In the Grim Darkness of the Far Future
by Fenrir666
Summary: Four men are stranded.  An accident with the Wonder Weapons and the teleporter to moon has sent them far away, physically and temporally, from their goal.  To a galaxy whose warfare makes their previous adventures seem like a relaxing vacation...
1. Prologue

–Start Story–

It was a chaotic scene, in Area 51. Four men stood on a large, flashing blue pad, under an old hangar, as a hoard of undead and fiery dogs rushed them. Each man held a weapon, and were firing into the oncoming hoard. The first man was a muscular warrior, a man by the name of Tank Dempsey, and was dressed in a greenish-tan outfit, with long pants and short sleeves. His blond hair was cut short, almost in a crew cut. He held a large light machine-gun, and was firing energized bullets into the zombies charging him, the terrifyingly powerful rounds tearing into the undead, shredding rotting flesh and bone. An inscription on the side of the gun revealed it as the _H115 Oscillator. _Dempsey's face was twisted into a vicious grin, the love of carnage and slaughter clear upon his face.

_"Die freakbags!"_ the former Marine screamed, turning his weapon on a Hellhound that was leaping at him, seeking to tear out his throat. The bullets tore through the beast, punching straight through its fiery flesh, and the beast exploded with a blast of flame, its internal chemistry set off by the bullets tearing it to shreds.

Next to Dempsey was a somewhat large man, wearing a tan, long sleeved shirt and striped pants, and dark boots. His head was covered by a green and black piece of cloth. The man reeked of vodka, and his eyes burned with an intense hatred of all things living and dead. This man was called Nikolai Belinski. He wielded two guns, each with a strange, widened barrel. One gun was red, and the other blue. These weapons were the pieces of the odd device known as the Wave Gun. Each fired a strange beam into the hoards, and each zombie struck quickly began to bleed from every orifice, before their tongues and eyes exploded, and the zombie died. Another odd weapon, a red gun with a long, thin barrel, ending in a small, closed tip, rested at Nikolai's hip. Rings circled the barrel, and a thin rod with a cross hair provided the sights for the weapon.

_"Fuck you, hellpigs!"_ Nikolai snarled, firing beam after beam into the massive hoard, but for all the zombies he killed, it seemed that two more replaced each one.

Just to the left of Nikolai was an Asian man, fit and wearing a tan coat and black pants. In his hands he held a small, black sub-machine gun with a long, thin magazine. An inscription on the side read _'MP115 Kollider'._ This warrior was called Takeo Masaki. He was firing into the hoard as well, bullets punching through the heads of his foes. Finally, as his magazine ran dry, he lashed out with the massive blade at his hip, a blade all of his allies carried, almost the size of a machete. The blade flashed in the sun, just before it was coated in the blood of the dead and damned. His strikes were swift and skillful, each one a killing blow, but it seemed useless. For all his might, the Japanese warrior was far outmatched by the sheer numbers of his enemies.

Beside him stood a a tall, thin man, a man who was laughing with hysterical joy. The man wore a tan-green Nazi uniform, and held a large, strange looking weapon. It was almost golden in color, and its long barrel ended in a thin tip, surrounded by long metal rods, hooked in towards the tip. The weapon was rifle-shaped, though it lacked any apparent magazine. Three lightbulb-like attachments glowed on its side, though as the man fired the weapon, one of the lights faded and went dark. As the man pulled the trigger of the weapon, a bright blast of lightning exploded from the weapon's tip, arcing into the closest zombie, and from that creature to the next, and the next, until a sizable dent had been placed in the hoard. Inscribed on the side of the weapon was the name '_Wunderwaffe-DG2'._ At the man hip sat a red gun, similar to Nikolai's gun, but an inscription on the side classified it as the _'Porter's X2'._ An expression of twisted, terrible delight covered the thin, cruel face of the monster known as Edward Rictofen.

It was Edward Rictofen that was behind most of the group's misery. It was Edward Rictofen, obsessed with the powers of the mysterious Element 115, that had been driven to madness by his accidental transport to the moon, so long ago, and his exposure to vast amounts of 115. It was Edward Rictofen that had designed the DG-2 he now wielded, the weapon powered by the same twisted element that had so shattered him. It was Rictofen's allies that had designed the other so called 'Wonder Weapons', weapons powered by Element 115. The Ray Gun, and the next version up, the Porter's X2. The Thunder Gun, the 31-79 JGb-215, the strange gun known as the VR-11, the Winter's Howl, the Wave Gun and its component parts, the dual Zap Guns. The grenades Rictofen now wielded, known as the Q.E.D., or the Quantum Entanglement Device, the Gersch Device, the sentient Monkey Bombs, and the explosive Matryoshka Dolls. All of these devices were powered by the same element: Element 115. The same element which gave the four men their extraordinary resilience.

The same element Rictofen would use to doom them all, if his plan succeeded.

It was because of Rictofen, because of one man, that the group had found themselves in this dire situation at all. This man's, this monster's scheming had taken them from abandoned theaters, to old insane asylums, to the future Siberia, to ancient temples, and to where they were retreating to now: the Moon. Rictofen's terrible desire, the desire to control the millions of zombies now roaming the Earth and Moon, had carried his unknowing allies through hell and back. Only now, however, with his final victory close at hand, were his allies beginning to suspect his true goals. But they had all come to far to simply abandon Rictofen. And besides, they needed him. He was the only one who knew anything about the true origins of the undead hoard.

"_Die, minions!"_ Rictofen howled, his high-pitched voice holding a heavy German accent. As he fired his lightning gun, Nikolai fired his own dual weapons. At that exact moment, however, with a hum and a flash of energy, the teleporter activated. Instead of instantaneous transport to the Moon, their destination, though, an extended feeling of rushing movement and a terrifying sensation of an incomprehensible amount of time passing them by overwhelmed them. Slowly, they felt themselves being pried apart from each other, the presence of their allies fading and becoming nothing, until, at last, they were each rushing through time and space, completely and utterly alone.

–Scene Break–

It was both terrifying and exhilarating at once, Tank Dempsey felt, this sense of rushing movement and time. Way better than those mine carts. He felt like he was on the world's most awesome roller coaster. After what felt like forever, though, it ended. Suddenly his world went from rushing purple and black lightning to blindingly bright like and a brutal impact.

Tank rolled for several yards before stopping. With a groan, he picked himself up, his hands sinking into the sandy ground, and he looked around. He saw a heat-blasted landscape, sand visible for miles in every direction, and, in the far, far, far distance, a massive city.

"I hate the desert," Dempsey sighed, and began walking towards the city in the distance, grateful that he wasn't wearing Nikolai's clothes. It was hot as all hell in this place.

–Scene Break–

Nikolai was absurdly grateful when the endless sensation of terrifying movement ended, even if it was with a brutal impact. The first thing Nikolai did when he stopped rolling was to throw up. Then he looked around. He could almost swear he was in Russia. There was snow all around, and the skies were dark with smoke, and the air thick with the smell of blood, sweat, and pain, and the screams of the dying as a battle raged around him.

Wait a minute.

Nikolai looked around again. Two massive armies were fighting viciously, one side dressed head to toe in armor, the other side drenched in blood. The armored side were shooting lasers at the rushing, blood-soaked hoard, and the hoard held chainsaws and axes, and, if Nikolai wasn't just drunk, chainsaw axes. Nikolai looked at him feet, and saw a corpse, covered in small holes and burns, still clutching the chainsaw axe in its hand.

Nikolai shrugged and picked up the axe.

"When in Rome," he said, his Russian accent showing even more in this place, so like his homeland, and he charged, screaming, towards the other army, his thumb finding the button that sent the axe whirring as its chained teeth sped up, axe and master hungry for blood and carnage.

–Scene Break–

Takeo picked himself up, the journey through the teleporter finally over, and looked around. He was in a fountain, in the middle of a city. The buildings looked like they were made from marble, and seemed to be designed in the ancient Greek fashion. However, none of this seemed as important as the three men aiming large guns at him.

"Drop your weapons, or die," one ordered, and Takeo obliged, and raised his hands into the air. These men were clearly officers of the law, and now his enemies. Takeo resolved to explain as best he could, and hoped that the men understood.

–Scene Break–

Rictofen picked himself up from the ground, and wiped his now filthy hands on his pants. He looked around in the darkness, confused.

"In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have been using the DG-2 on the teleporter," he murmured to himself.

A loud growl echoed from behind him, and footsteps echoed in the darkness. Rictofen spun to the side, and slashed out with his blade, catching his assailant and pinning them against the dark wall.

"You dare attack ze _Doctor?"_ Rictofen snarled, meeting the terrified eyes of a skinless _thing._ It looked almost human, but instead of arms, it had tentacles, and its feet were cloven. Feathered wings stretched from its back, and an odd, glowing tattoo was etched on its chest, an eight-pointed star with a skull in the center.

"Unhand my pet, mortal," a firm, commanding voice ordered from behind him. With a twist, Rictofen ripped the blade free of the pinned creature, dealing a terrible, mortal injury to the being, and turned to face the voice. Six men in blood-soaked robes stood behind him, each with only their glowing eyes shining out of their hoods.

Rictofen smiled. This promised to be fun.

–End Chapter–

Well, that's the Prologue. The actual chapters will be much, much longer, averaging roughly twice this length, if not more.

Please review, and tell me what you think!


	2. War on Carana

–Start Chapter–

"Sir, the enemy forces are advancing. They'll be at our doorsteps in a matter of days," General Oliver of Carana IV reported grimly. The thin, finely dressed man staring out the large window at the end of the plush office gave no response for a moment. He simply looked at the large plume of smoke that was the battlefield. Two hives. Two hives had fallen in a matter of weeks. The PDF outnumbered the enemy five to one, and yet they had hardly put up a fight. The ferocity of the foe was something none of them had been prepared for. Their tanks had fallen to rocket and plasma fire. Chainaxes and autoguns had shredded the PDF Forces, armed and armored with las and flak armor. Flamers had burned his men alive. The enemy forces were inhuman. That much should have been obvious from the beginning, he reflected bitterly.

"Governor Harold?" Oliver asked, concernedly.

"We are lost, then?" Harold asked quietly, his despairing tone revealing his expectations for the answers he would receive.

General Oliver shook his head, and then spoke, realizing that his liege couldn't see him.

"Not quite, sir. We still outnumber the enemy-"

A loud ring sounded from the Governor's desk.

"Answer," the Governor sighed loudly, and at his command the voice of his senior aid came from the desk. The youth sounded breathless in his excitement.

"Governor, I have news! We just got an astropathic message, and it seems to be legitimate! It bears the sign of the Holy Ordos. An Inquisitorial task force has been sent to aid us. They've just translated from the warp, and will be here by tomorrow!"

"An Inquisitor is coming?" the Governor asked, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

"It seems so, sir. They aren't bringing a large amount of soldiers, but the warriors _are_ the shock troops of the Holy Ordos. And the one in charge is coming as an adviser. He's apparently someone familiar with the forces we're fighting here. A man named Gallus Drake."

–Scene Break–

_1 and ½ years prior..._

_ "Take that!" Dempsey snarled, slamming his fist into the gut of the freak that had attacked him. It was thin and tall, with wrinkly blue skin and long, sharp claws instead of nails. It wore a shirt and pants made of pale human skin. Its face was twisted and scarred, and its eyes were yellow and slitted. It lacked a nose, having only a hole in its face where the nose should have been. Its red, skinless lips were pulled back in an expression of hatred, showing off its many, sharp pointed teeth. Dempsey's blow knocked the air from its lungs, and the creature brought its knee into Dempsey's thigh in response, and the pain of the impact made Dempsey growl in agony._

_ "That. Fucking! HURT!" he screamed, punctuating the words with vicious blows from his fists, staggering this creature that had had the temerity to jump him, and finally he managed to grab it by the head and slam its skull into the wall of the underhive. Dempsey didn't relent, though, and forced the creatures skull into the wall, again and again, until its cries ceased and its muscles slackened as death overtook it._

_ Breathing heavily, Dempsey turned around, and found himself face to face with a group of heavily armed warriors. Their leader wore a suit of black armor that ended at the neck. An 'I' was placed over the man's heart. The man's face was young, he looked perhaps thirty at most, and his black hair was cut short. Piercing black eyes met Dempsey's gaze._

_ "That was impressive," the man said bluntly._

_ "Thanks. I'm Tank Dempsey. Who the fuck are you?" Dempsey responded, eying the man warily. The man's companions bristled._

_ "Watch your tongue, or risk losing it!" one of them threatened, but fell silent at a gesture from the leader._

_ "Peace. This man is not our enemy," the leader instructed, before turning back to Dempsey._

_ "I am Interrogator Gallus Drake. I serve Inquisitor Havelock of the Ordo Xenos. I have been tracking that creature for months. You're the first one who's encountered it that still possesses their skin. You are to be commended."_

_ "Again, thanks," Dempsey stated, "but that doesn't exactly answer my question. What's an Interrogator, or an Ordo Xenos?"_

_ The man, Gallus, frowned, and stared at Dempsey, seeming to focus, and didn't respond for almost a minute._

_ "I see..." he said at length, still staring hard at the Ex-Marine._

_ "Mr. Dempsey, I think I may have a job for you."_

_ –End Flashback–_

**'Attention!' **a psychic echo rang in Dempsey's head, pulling him from his reveries as he stared at the desert world below him, **'We will be launching the shuttles in five minutes. Make sure you're all strapped into your seats, and if you have to vomit, make sure it isn't on your neighbor.'**

The obligatory chuckles at the worn out joke Gallus made every time they entered atmo made Dempsey roll his eyes. The man tried too hard to be nice. He could understand not wanting to have your underlings live in constant fear of you, especially since Gallus was an Inquisitor in training, but the man sucked at making jokes. In Dempsey's opinion, he should stick to flaying freaks alive with his mind. Go with what you're good at, and all that inspirational shit.

**'I resent that, Dempsey,'**__came an amused echo in his mind, **'My jokes are hysterical. Besides, flaying people alive makes my nose bleed.**

"Whatever," Dempsey growled quietly, drawing a look from the soldier sitting next to him. A total of about five hundred Inquisitorial storm troopers were packed into the two shuttles now launching into the atmosphere of the planet below. Given that about five hundred times their numbers of enemies were currently on planet and ready for combat, this war promised to be interesting.

Then he was pressed against his seat as the shuttle launched from Gallus' ship, and they were shooting down at the planet below, a shooting star, carrying a truly lethal payload. Hundreds of the Inquisition's finest were aboard the shuttle, Dempsey included. Gallus himself would come last, on his custom gun cutter. The gun cutter was controlled mostly by Servitors, although Gallus had a psychic link to the machines, and could take control of the ship in a crisis. He generally traveled alone, although occasionally Dempsey and Frie, his Tech-Priest, would accompany him. When they did, though, it meant that shit had gone down. The last time it had happened was when the main ship had been boarded by Genestealers and a quick, violent escape had proven necessary. Normally, though, Dempsey and Frie each went on one of the two shuttles. As the only two members of Gallus' personal retinue, they were his eyes and ears in all things, the only ones loyal to him and him alone. And Gallus _hated_ leaving forces loyal to men other than him or Inquisitor Havelock without some level of supervision. And thus Dempsey was riding in the cramped shuttle with several hundred of the most terrifying mortal warriors in the galaxy, and was nominally in charge of them. Frie rode in the other ship, with considerably less soldiers and considerably more munitions. Dempsey was privately glad, that woman gave him the creeps. She was mostly machine, but that honestly wasn't much of a problem for him. After all, he'd dealt with Rictofen for months. After that and the zombies, he wasn't easily disturbed. But her _personality._..

The entire ship shuddered violently, ripping Dempsey from his thoughts.

**'We are encountering anti-aircraft fire from the enemy forces, just so you know. MY shields are holding, so nothing to worry about. We'll be at the hive itself in about thirty seconds, so just hang in there. We'll be home free in a matter of-shit!'**

Once more the ship shuddered violently, but no worse than before, and the cause of Gallus' swearing wasn't immediately visible. And then, looking through his window, he saw it, albeit briefly.

It was small, compared to the massive shuttles, but still large. Painted jet black, and covered with corpses and spikes. A Chaos-touched Thunderhawk. Fire spat from its guns, but, strangely, not at the shuttles. As they sped past, though, Dempsey got a glimpse of a small, black aircraft, perhaps twice the size of a bus, speeding by the Thunderhawk, flashes of deadly red energy spitting from its side-mounted las-cannons.

"Shit," Dempsey muttered. This didn't look good.

–Scene Break–

Gallus was held in his seat through the sheer force of his immense psychic power. He hated being restrained by something he couldn't easily undo, and so his restraints remained unsecured. He was keenly aware of the terrible threat facing him. He could feel the minds of the Khornate warriors piloting the captured Thunderhawk. They were all skilled pilots, veterans of the battles that had taken the three planets this army had obliterated over the past two years, and the craft itself was better armored than Gallus' craft. And it should have been more heavily armed, but Gallus had made a few creative alterations to his cutter. In addition to the psychic links he had throughout his ship, several additional las cannons, and the heavy bolter turrets on the wings and top of his ship, he had one other, major alteration made to the nose of his ship. The pilot servitor, linked directly to Gallus' mind, sped up, turning around, moving out of the sights of the enemy ship, even as the immensely powerful las blasts from the turbo laser on the Thunderhawk just missed removing Gallus from existence. The enemy vessel sped up matching Gallus' maneuver, turning to try to keep Gallus in its sites. The Servitor pushed the cutter harder, and the autocannon fire missed Gallus, the thirty millimeter cannon rounds speeding harmlessly into the desert. Once more, the two planes twisted, and Gallus was aiming his nose directly at the massive turbo laser mounted on the wing of the thunder hawk. Gallus smiled, and sent the mental order to fire.

A lance of terrible, ravenous white and blue energy fired from the nose of the gun cutter, the massive, gunship-grade plasma weapon punching through the Thunderhawk's armor with ease, the blazing wrath of the stars themselves burning through the turbo laser as it prepared the fire, the titan grade weapon vaporizing instantly as the plasma passed through it and into the center of the Thunderhawk. Three of the heretics within, six soldiers on their way to one of the other, captured hives, were vaporized instantly, the other three were blasted by the heat of the star-stuff, their skin melting from their muscles, their howls echoing through the cargo of the ship, and then the heat from the plasma scorched their mouths and throat and lungs, lethally damaging their ability to breath.

Gallus smiled as he read the pain and fear in the doomed heretic's minds. He loved reading the final thoughts of his enemies. There was no being in all the galaxy so foul as a heretic. The daemons of Chaos themselves were not so horrible as that. They were evil, certainly, infinitely so, but they were supposed to be. They were abominations to be annihilated. But heretics...they _chose_ to betray humanity. They _chose_ to betray the Emperor. A burning death by plasma cannon fire was far, far too good for them.

On that thought, Gallus mentally trained the las-cannons on the injured ship, and opened fire. Flashes of deadly red energy struck the injured ship, and heavy bolter turrets pelted the vessel with explosive fire. It took mere seconds of the barrage to tear the already wounded gunship apart, as bolters pierced the melted armor that marked the places where the las-cannons had struck, and as las-cannons punched great holes where they had previously only wounded armor. The smoking, burning ship fell from the sky as its damaged structure could no longer be supported by its stressed, damaged engines, spiraling to a crash landing in the desert.

Gallus smiled to himself as he watched through the servitors' eyes. First blood to him. First blood to the Inquisition.

First blood to the Emperor.

–Scene Break–

Colonel Woods of the Carana PDF waited on the landing pad, near the top of Hive Scylla, the last free hive of Carana, with an honor guard of PDF Forces in full dress uniform. He personally was dressed in ornate light carapace, and a black hat rest on his short brown hair. His youthful face belied his experience. He was a mere thirty-five years old, but he had been sent here after he had spoken out of turn to a Lord General of the guard a few years before. He had fought the Orks and Tyranids in the Damocles Gulf for almost a decade before that, and had been a colonel of the Guard for a short, glorious year before his reassignment to the Carana PDF, far from his old regiment, far from any sort of action. Carana had been peaceful for centuries. Probably why he had been sent here, Woods thought bitterly.

Looking around at his forces, he sighed. He had always thought the dress uniforms were ridiculous. Too much gold ornamentation and red silk, to little flak armor. At least they had real weapons. The las guns were actually beneficial, given that they were master crafted, but the sabers at their sides...they were made in the image of the power weapon wielded by General Oliver, but they were simple steel. They would be a hindrance in the event of an actual fight. The chain weapons of the enemy would chew straight through the blades and into the man beneath. And then there was the sheer weight and size of the weapons! They would slow his men down, make running awkward. Woods shook his head and sighed. It wasn't his place to think like that. The governor and Oliver were in charge for a reason, he was sure.

But, if that was true, then why were they losing?

Colonel Woods was ripped from his doubts by the arriving troop shuttles. Two, massive vehicles, big enough to house hundreds of men each, were landing on the pad. Woods and his men stood at attention, waiting as the ramps extended from the thousand foot long ships, and men began rushing from the ramps, hellguns at the ready. Each man was armored head to toe in black carapace armor, each chest piece adorned with an Inquisitorial 'I' over the heart. Colonel Woods noticed their sidearms, each carried either a hellpistol or a bolt pistol, and he saw what looked like power knives strapped to their thighs. A brief surge of envy struck Woods. He was sure that those were _real_ power weapons. Not the fake crap his men had to use.

Hundreds of the black-armored soldiers exited the shuttles, forming a defensive perimeter around the massive pad, sweeping the area, not an easy task, even for twice their number of men. The landing pad itself was a mile in diameter, and circular in shape. But the men did an admirable job. The immediate area was covered by men with hellguns and the sweeping heavy bolters mounted on the shuttles' wings by the time yet another ship, far, far smaller than the shuttles, perhaps seventy feet from tip to tale, and a mere fifty feet across, compared to the shuttles' hundreds of feet. This ship, however, was bristling with weapons. Woods could see, just from a sweeping glance, four heavy bolter turrets on the wings, and four separate las-cannons one on each wing, one mounted on the top of the ship, and one on the back. He noticed another, unknown weapon in the nose. It was big, though, and Woods didn't envy whatever enemy vessel that was faced with that weapon.

The door to the gunship opened, and a ramp extended down. Woods didn't know exactly what he was expecting, but he knew that it was something along the lines of the hoard of black-armored storm troopers that had exited the shuttles. What he _didn't_ expect, however, were towering masses of flesh and metal. They came in pairs of two, stepping down the ramp. Each was almost as tall as a Space Marine, and not quite as massive. Combat Servitors. Each individual in the identical pairs, however, were different. One in each pair had a single, massive barrel for a right arm, and a heavy bolter on their left. Most of their bodies were grey and metallic, but half of their faces were flesh, the other half metal, with a glowing red eye. Their legs were half bionic, half fleshy, as were their left arms. The others were even more horrifying.

They were largely metallic, with all of their vital areas covered by heavy armor. There had to be flesh somewhere, beneath the armor, but it wasn't visible to the eye. This wasn't what was horrifying, however. The horror were the arms of the creatures. The right arm just below the elbow, easily three feet of arm, was a buzzing, whirring chainsword. The other arm was a crackling, glowing, massive fist. The fist itself was twice the size of a man's head, easily, probably more, and arcs of energy danced along the metallic fist.

_"A power fist..."_ Woods whispered, awestruck. He'd heard about power fists, but had never seen one. A massive weapon, able to be attached to one's own hand. It could give a man strength to match an Ork, and the power field alone could tear a Leman Russ tank apart. And there were four of them. Four pairs of two. Four gun servitors, four close combat servitors.

When the final Servitor had descended the ramp, and all had formed a semi circle in front of the ramp, three final figures left the ship. There were two final servitors, in the same side-by-side march as the others. They were larger than the others, and more heavily armored. The gun servitor had, in place of the one massive barrel, it a rotary autocannon, but instead of a heavy bolter, it had an entirely bionic left arm. The close combat servitor, however, was similar to the others. Instead of a chainsword, though, it had a large power axe on its right arm, and its left arm was an inactive chainfist.

In between the two, massive servitors, though, was the most unassuming, and, ironically, the most terrifying of all. He strode confidently towards Woods, flanked by his guard servitors, and Woods felt suddenly nervous. The man was young. Or, at least, he appeared so. With his type, it was hard to tell. He didn't look a day over thirty-five, but he could just as easily be eighty, or even one hundred years old. He wore similar armor to the men that had come out of the shuttle, but his looked nicer, better, stronger. The symbol of the Inquisition was, like on his warriors, placed over his heart, and a long power sword hung from his waist. The man had short black hair, and piercing black eyes. His skin, however, was pale, a sharp contrast to his armor. He wore no headgear, and a necklace bearing a golden Aquila hung from his neck, the Aquila itself resting on his collar bone. A ring with shaped like a large 'I' rested on his right ring finger, and a slight smiled was placed upon his lips. He stopped just in front of Woods, his Servitors towering over them both, so much that woods didn't even notice that he was several inches taller than the man before him. Not that he would have felt much better if he _had_ noticed.

The young man took Woods hand with a smile and shook it, to Woods' shock.

"Hello, Colonel. I'm Interrogator Drake, of the Ordo Xenos. Inquisitor Havelock sends his regards, and apologizes for not being present himself. He's busy with an Ork Waagh! in the next sector, and Chaos isn't his specialty anyway. It is mine, however, and I'm here to help however I can. Mind showing me to the Governor so he can brief me on the situation?"

Woods' simply stared at the smiling man before him. Hundreds of elite soldiers watched for threats to this man, ten terrifying military servitors guarded him, and he was _asking_ Woods to do his job, as if he had a choice in the matter.

"Yes, come this way," Woods managed to say, and the Interrogator and his two massive servitors followed behind him, while the rest of his forces did whatever it was that they were supposed to do, and the PDF honor guard followed, suddenly much less at attention, every one of the fifty men in it feeling highly inadequate in the face of the Interrogator's own guards.

Woods began to smile. For the first time since the broadcast of the loss of the other two hives of Carana, and the resulting orgy of torture and slaughter by the victorious Chaos forces, had reached Carana, Colonel Jason Woods began to feel like they had a real chance of winning this war.

–Scene Break–

_Hive Charybdis, Carana IV, Manufacturing Center_

John Kimball carefully attached the barrel of the lasgun to the body of the weapon. It had to be perfect, absolutely perfect. He had just finished the first screw when a loud crack echoed through the air and an explosion of pain lit up across his bare back, and he fell as his body convulsed, his muscles spasming uncontrollably.

"Work faster!" the Overseer, a flak armored man with an electrically charged lash, shouted, and viciously kicked the fallen man in the gut. John climbed to his feet as quickly as he could and got back to work, working quickly, but still careful not to make any mistakes. Everyone now knew what happened to saboteurs, and he'd take lashes and beatings over that any day.

John laughed without humor. He _got _beatings and lashes everyday. Everybody did. At least, everyone _lucky_ enough to survive the initial slaughter. He heard screams coming from down the line, and figured that someone else hadn't been working fast enough. Idlelly, John wondered if he had died, and simply gone to hell. He didn't go to church as often as he should, he knew that. This place was bad enough that it would be hard to tell the difference, anyways.

He looked again at the marks he'd made in the dirt. Four tick marks had passed since he'd last slept. Since they got to watch a rebel get executed every two hours, every tick mark, he'd worked eight hours so far. He was keenly aware of the aches in his body, the fire blazing in his back, the need to answer nature's call, and the inability to do so, keenly aware of just how thirsty and hungry he was, and keenly aware of just how much he wanted to sleep.

Eight hours down, ten to go.

Eight hours down, ten to go.

If John could have looked into the minds of the tens of thousands of his fellows, he would have realized that the mantra was being repeated in each and every one of their minds.

Eight hours down. Ten to go.

–Scene Break–

This is about how long my average chapter is going to be. Some will be twice this length, some a bit shorter, and some about one point five time the length. Just to give an idea.

If you want a quicker update next time, please review! I have the ability to write roughly two-four chapters a week, and, at a low end, about one every five days if I get a bunch of reviews. Otherwise, we're looking at a one every ten days basis for updates, barring sickness. Just a little incentive for those who want a quicker updates.

Thanks in advance, and special thanks to those who reviewed my first chapter!


	3. Preparations

**A/N: Just a request: The best gift readers can possibly give an author is a lengthy review. But not everyone can do that, I understand. So, maybe just a few sentences about what you did and didn't like? Or, hell, even just "Cool story, keep it up". I prefer knowing what was cool, but I also know that, sometimes, nothing really stands out. I just like knowing people are reading.**

** And if you see a problem, tell me, and I'll try to fix it. My goal is to be a good writer, and from my mistakes. Of course, DOES have a bad track record for author's responding positively to constructive criticism, but that's my entire goal, to improve.**

** Alright, spiel over, enjoy the chapter.**

–Start Chapter–

Governor Harold sat nervously at the large, rectangular table, the many plush seats empty save a few, his fingers tapping the table, his gaze traveling over the room. The red carpet was perfect, the pictures of the Emperor and various Imperial Saints on the wall were straight, the few remaining nobles, the military high command, the servants prepared to gather food and drink at a moment's notice, all were present. PDF Elite were stationed around the room, mastercrafted las-guns at the ready. Governor Harold ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, his green eyes flickered nervously again. He wanted everything to be perfect for the Inquisitor. He had no desire to offend the Holy Ordos, especially when they were the only things standing between his planet and damnation. He looked to his aide, a young man in his twenties named Gregory.

"Does everything look acceptable?" he asked anxiously. His aide nodded, glancing around the room.

"Guards for safety, servants for food, everyone who will need to hear the briefing, a table with more than enough seats, an honor guard has been sent out, and the entire thing is in your office, showing that you respect him. I'd say everything is in order, yes."

Harold nodded, and opened his mouth to ask another question, but then the large double-doors to his office opened, and his words were lost forever as he saw the impressive sight coming in.

His office was quite large, made to accommodate anyone who might have cause to come to the planet, even Space Marines, but the figures now entering pushed even that envelope. Flanking two men were two massive machines, which the Governor recognized as military grade servitors. One was a gun servitor, with one massive, human-like arm on its left, and for its right had a rotary autocannon. The other was obviously a close-combat servitor, and had a massive, crackling axe instead of a right arm, and in place of its left arm had an inactive chain-fist. Between the servitors, though, the Governor now saw the reason for his anxiety.

Standing next to the young officer assigned to Carana by an old acquaintance in the Imperial Guard was a young man. He wore black carapace armor from his neck down to his feet, and an Inquisitorial 'I' was placed directly over the man's heart. The man's face was uncovered, though. His skin was very pale, like someone who rarely went out into the sun, but otherwise unblemished. His hair was at odds with his skin, jet black as the void and cut short, but was still thick, unlike the crew cuts of the PDF. His eyes were the same color as his hair, and his pale skin only drew attention to those piercing black windows to the soul. Looking into the eyes of this warrior, and this man was undoubtedly a warrior, Governor Harold felt naked and powerless.

The man stepped over to him, the massive servitors following, and shook Harold's hand in his own.

"Hello, Governor," the man greeted pleasantly, "I'm Interrogator Gallus Drake, sent here on behalf of Inquisitor Havelock of the Ordo Xenos. My master sends his regrets that he couldn't be here himself, but he's busy with Warboss Gorgok's Waagh! in the next sector. Don't worry, though, I specialize in fighting Chaos, and have a great deal of experience doing so. I'll help you in any way I can. First, though, I think a briefing might be in order?"

Harold was completely taken aback at the man's pleasant attitude, which was completely at odds with his preconceptions of how the Inquisition operated. To his credit, though, he recovered quickly.

"I thank you for your aid, Inquisitor," he started, but Gallus cut him off.

"Interrogator," he corrected, "I'm not an Inquisitor, though I was sent on the behalf of one."

Harold frowned.

"Wait, then you're-" but once more Gallus cut him off.

"I'm an Interrogator, the highest Inquisitorial rank before Inquisitor. I bear the seal of my master, and carry his authority. I served in the Imperial Guard as a Preceptor Savant for three years as part of my training, and am studying to become an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus. I assure you, I am completely qualified for the job at hand. Does that answer your question?"

Governor Harold nodded.

"Um, yes. So, the briefing..." Harold took a deep breath, and plunged on.

"Four months ago, a Chaos fleet arrived in the system, and engaged the System Defense Forces. They destroyed the larger part of the Defense Forces within two weeks and replaced their losses by using captured SDF ships. They moved on, destroying the mining worlds in this system, Carana I, II, and III, and destroying fleeing SDF forces where they founds them, briefly dividing their fleet to do so. They killed everyone on the worlds, and took everything that they could carry with them. It took them not quite a month to do this. Then, a bit less then three months ago, they landed here. At that time, their combined forces were believed to have numbered almost three hundred thousand, but they split into three separate forces, one for each hive. The sent fifty thousand to Hive Medea, and took it in three weeks, and massacred all of the remaining soldiers, and much of the citizenry. They broadcast the slaughter across the planet. Around the same time, a force of seventy-five thousand attacked Hive Charybdis, and took it in four weeks. A few weeks ago, Colonel Woods engaged a force of one-hundred-and-seventy-five thousand that attacked our hive, and fought them to a draw with a full fifty percent, two hundred thousand men, of our forces. We lost one hundred and sixty thousand men that day, and the Chaos forces lost fifty thousand soldiers in that engagement. They're currently mobilizing to attack again, we believe."

Governor Harold finished, and looked at Drake. The man had remained quiet throughout the briefing, staring hard at Harold. Finally, he spoke.

"So, we've got two hundred and forty thousand inexperienced men, and are facing one hundred and twenty five thousand experienced, brutal, psychopathic soldiers, all of whom are extremely versed in the art of warfare."

Gallus didn't speak as though he was asking a question. He sounded more like he was talking aloud to himself, so Governor Harold remained silent.

"Inexperienced?" one of the PDF Officers asked, a man by the name of Daniel, sounding insulted.

"You haven't had a war in five hundred years," Gallus said absently, "I'd call that pretty inexperienced."

"We still maintain regular training, and I-"

"You _do _realize you're contradicting a member of the Inquisition, right?" Gallus asked, raising an eyebrow at the man. Daniel paled and fell silent. Governor Harold tried not to smile. Most of the PDF were only there because they were the children of the nobility. That was only why Oliver was the High General, even. Their senses, barring Oliver, who tried to be good at his job, and Woods who _was_ good at his job, of entitlement were irritating at best.

Gallus turned to Colonel Woods.

"How did you lose the battle? And be honest. I'm a psyker, I can tell if you're holding anything back."

Woods bit his lip nervously, and many of the nobles and the PDF officers shifted nervously. Psykers generally put people off, and the nobles of Carana IV were no exception.

Finally, the colonel took a deep breath, and spoke.

"We outnumbered the enemy by a significant number, were better equipped, and had better armor. However, we were unprepared for the ferocity of the enemy. We had no idea what to do in hand to hand combat, and suffered numerous friendly fire incidents do to soldiers panicking, as well as poor judgment by tank commanders when firing into combat. The enemy was used to warfare, and even seemed to revel in it. They suffered from no fear, and were far, far better at killing than we were. That, along with the loss of most of our tanks to enemy artillery, left us vulnerable to their wild charges, their brutal tactics, and the many morale problems. We had a great deal of deserters, and we would often break under their charges, failing to hold the lines. These were the worst issues. Everything else just had to do with poor logistics. Lots of thirst and heat issues in the desert."

Gallus was still staring at the colonel, who was not waiting for someone to kill him.

"That's exactly the answer I was looking for," Gallus said quietly, "We need to known what our past mistakes are. Only then can we begin to correct them."

Woods relaxed, relieved. He'd thought facing the Lord General was bad. This Interrogator had all the power of an Inquisitor. That was worse than _any_ Lord General could be.

"Now," Gallus said, standing suddenly, "Onto our next move. We have a massive force outside our gates, and they'll be moving on us soon. What have we got for artillery?"

"Four Hydras, twelve Earthshakers, six Manticores, and six Medusas. We lost the rest in the last battle."

Gallus nodded thoughtfully.

"Armor?" he asked.

"Fifteen Leman Russes, forty Chimeras, and fifty Rhinos," General Oliver cut in, anxious to be useful.

"What about defenses in the hive itself?" Gallus asked. Everyone present looked at him.

"The PDF..." one started and trailed off when they realized that Gallus was looking for a different answer.

"First order of business, then," Gallus said, "Get the armor and artillery ready, and start mobilizing our forces. Tomorrow, we're heading into battle. Colonel Woods, you're in charge of the organization of the forces, you're most familiar with how this particular army fights. I'll be here to help with the battle itself, but tonight I'll be on an errand. Give those traitors something to think about. Also, start prepare defenses in the event of a loss in the next battle. We'll need razor wire in the battlefield, mine fields, trenches. Machine-gun nests in the hive itself, and prepare some demolition charges, in case we need to collapse a few buildings to block thohe enemy advance. Any questions?"

Gallus' audience shook their collective heads, and Gallus smiled.

"Let's be off, then."

–Scene Break–

Dempsey leaned against the leg of the gun cutter, smoking a lho stick. The mild narcotic didn't inhibit his senses to a dangerous extent, and gave a pleasant buzz that counteracted the immense _boredom_ of sitting around the landing pad, waiting for orders, quite nicely. A servitor walked past him, ignoring him, and gave an evil eye to one of the PDF soldiers who was a bit too close to the cutter. The man quickly stepped away. Dempsey smirked. The look on the man's face had been pretty funny.

**'Dempsey, get your team and meet me in my quarters in the hive. I've got a job for you.'** Following the psychic command was a series of directions, showing him the route to Gallus' rooms.

Dempsey stood straight and smiled with anticipation. Finally, he'd get to bust some skulls.

"Frank, Sain, Kenneth, Roy, Hector, Smith, get your asses over here!" he called out, and six black-armored warriors rushed over to him from various places around the cutter and shuttles. They were _his_ unit, and as such were never far from Dempsey. After all, they were the sole survivors of the group that'd helped him save Gallus' ass from the a bunch of 'stealers a few months back, after that disaster on the Space Hulk. Ever since, they'd been a unit. Sometimes they'd have others working with him, but these guys were _his,_ just as much as they were Gallus'.

At that thought, Dempsey chuckled. Technically, _he_ was Gallus', ever since that night in the Underhive of Scintilla, what seemed like so long ago...

"Sir?" Roy, a tall, ginger haired man, though he looked just like his fellows under the carapace helmet, asked.

"We're heading over to the Interrogator. We've got a job to do." Dempsey explained, and started walking away, in the direction of the hive proper. His team followed him without another word. They obeyed him as they obeyed Gallus. Dempsey smiled. It was nice to work with people who respected him. And, much more importantly, who he respected. Nikolai was okay to talk to, sometimes, but he wasn't much more than a drunk Russian psychopath. Takeo was alright, but boring as all hell. Rictofen hated Dempsey's guts, and the feeling was mutual. The sick bastard was fucked the hell up, and Dempsey had been planning to kill Rictofen the second that he was no longer needed, and he knew Rictofen had the same idea.

But these guys...they were tough sons of bitches, and they knew how war worked. They didn't fuck around torturing people they should be killing, they didn't create zombies, or weird weapons, or look at him with eyes that made him feel like a serial killer's next victim. And they sure as hell weren't boring, or touchy-feely, like Rictofen.

And Gallus...Gallus was just cool. He was a bit...weird sometimes, but he was cool about it. He didn't treat Dempsey like a pawn, he didn't use the men under his command as meat shields, he fought _with_ them on the battlefield, and he made sure that their lives were pretty comfortable.

Frie was still creepy as _fuck_, though.

–Scene Break–

It was a bright room, the amphitheater of Hive Charybdis. Once upon a time, it had been used for the delivery of speeches, or plays about the Emperor or the Saints. Now, though, it had been perverted and twisted. The arena itself was drenched in blood from the hundreds, thousands, even, of battles that had been waged in it over the past few weeks. The stands were filled with screaming psychopaths, the worshipers of Khorne, who had taken all of the strongest men of the hive, the gangers loyal to the Emperor, the best of the captured soldiers, those psychopaths who had failed the initiation into the ranks of Khorne, and pitted the men against each other in brutal combat. They fought to the death, and those who wouldn't fight died by torture in front of their fellows, to show the penalty of disobedience. The arena now held one of the few remaining members of the PDF, and a ganger with the mark of Khorne badly burnt into his bare chest and back. This told of a man who had passed the first test of the Archenemy, but failed the second. Earlier in the capture of the hive, there had been many of them. Many had passed the first test. Far, far fewer had passed the second, and so had been sent to the arena.

The PDF man held a sharpened meat cleaver, and was edging around the ganger, looking for an opening. The ganger held a long, heavy wooden club, into which were imbedded dozens of razor blades. The ganger swung first, and narrow missed the PDF warrior, who jumped to the side and slammed the cleaver into the ganger's back as the man passed, severing the warrior's spine as he passed. The ex-criminal collapsed, and the PDF warrior knelt next to him, preparing for the killing blow that would sever the man's head.

_"I'm Henry,"_ the PDF gladiator whispered, _"And I haven't eaten in two days."_

It had become a common etiquette among the combatants to give their name and primary reason for fighting before dealing the killing blow. A final show of respect.

The ganger smiled sadly, an expression that seemed entirely out of place on his twisted, scarred face.

_"They call me Michael,"_ he whispered, _"And I just wanted to live..."_

The PDF man nodded once in respect, and brought the cleaver down onto the man's neck, and again, and again, until finally his head was severed, and he held it up for the crowd to see. A roar of approval and bloodthirst filled the stadium, and a terrible voice, filled with hatred and cruelty, echoed from the top of the arena, in the area that had once been the Governor's box.

"Congratulations, Henry of the PDF!" the voice rang out mockingly, hatefully, "You have earned your meal, and a new weapon to choose from in your next fight. You may drag your meal back to your room, now. Guards, escort the victor to his chambers!"

Two heavily armed Khornate warriors walked next to Henry as he dragged Micheal's body with him, shame and hunger filling him. But hunger far, far more than shame.

Atop the arena, in the large steel box, two horrifying figures sat, side by side. The greater of the two was as massive as he was terrible. It had been his voice that had echoed throughout the arena.

He sat on a throne carved entirely from bone. Spikes grew from the throne, and it was clearly designed for someone far larger than mortal men. Next to this monstrous chair rested a sword the size of a small man. The sword was black, with veins of red running along the blade. The hilt was carved of bone, much like the chair, and the blade itself was the stuff of daemons. The weapon exuded an aura of terror and death, and seemed to pulse with hunger. It was nothing, however, when compared with its owner. The man himself stood almost eight feet tall, and wore armor of jet black, and streaks of blood adorned it in the shape of the sign of the Blood God. His armor covered his collar bone down, and was almost as massive as Astartes power armor. His massive gauntlets, large enough to grip a man's skull in his hand, ended in hooked claws. His feet ended in armored talons, and spikes grew from his massive pauldrons, and along his arms. His face was almost white, and his head was bald, with two massive, curved horns growing from his skull. His eyes were red like blood, and his pale lips, when parted, revealed sharp teeth stained red with the crimson fluid his god so desired. An expression of endless cruelty and bloodlust was seemingly carved upon his face.

This being was known as Hrothgar the Bloody, and was once a Son of Fenris, chosen by the Wolves to become an Aspirant of the Chapter. However, before his training was over, the Blood God reached out and sunk his talons into the youth. Hrothgar massacred his fellow Aspirants and fled the planet, the Wolves in hot pursuit. How he had eluded those famed hunters, no one knew. Perhaps Khorne himself had intervened. All that was known, though, is that world after world had burned in Hrothgar's wake, and he had assembled an army of almost a million followers at the height of his power. War against the Imperium had taken its toll, however, and his forces were greatly diminished. This world, however, would replenish his forces. The hives had each granted him forty thousand converts, and millions in slave labor. Within weeks, his forces would all be armed and armored by the Corpse God's own servant's toil and pain. His army would flow outward from this planet, renewed, and would take planet after planet, and the blood of billions would be spilled in the name of Khorne.

As these thoughts ran through Hrothgar's brutal mind, the figure next to him, sitting in a regular, though plush, seat. He drank a mixture of amasec and the blood of warriors. This man was not so imposing as his liege, but he was terrible nonetheless. He stood perhaps six feet and three inches tall, and, though his bloody carapace was clearly altered to be able to contain his ample gut, his form was also thick and clearly capable of feats of great strength. The skin of some foe was stretched across the chest plate of his armor. A great chainsword was slung across the back of his chair, and an Astartes bolt pistol was holstered at his waist. His face was bloody, and not just from his drink. His eyes seemed to burn with hatred, and a blood-soaked, tattered piece of clothing covered his head and wrapped around his chin.

"So, Hrothgar, when do we move out to kill some more of the Imperialist pigdogs?" the man asked, his heavy Russian accent obvious, even through his deepened, gruff voice, the product of great exposure to the Chaos of the Blood God.

"Soon, Nikolai," the Chaos Champion rumbled, his deep voice resonating with terrible power, "Soon, we will join our brothers, and crush the forces of our enemy once and for all," here Hrothgar stood, "We will storm their hive and slaughter their soldiers, their working men, women, and children! Their blood will flow through the streets of Hive Scylla! _We shall drench this planet with Blood! Blood for the Blood God! Blood for the Blood God!"_

Hrothgar's cry was taken up by all of the men in the stadium, and Nikolai enthusiatically toasted his drink, spilling some of himself.

_**"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"**_

The warcry echoed throughout the hive, striking fear into the hearts of all the slaves who heard it, and they, for what felt to each like the millionth time, prayed for an end, so long as they would be free from their living nightmare.

Even though not a one among them still believed that anyone was listening to their pleas.

–Scene Break–

It was a dark and cold night on Carana IV. The only lights around were the massive encampment of the Khornate Army and the distant Hive Scylla. The Khornate Encampment was noisy, very noisy. Tall, heavily muscled brutes fought, chain axe to chain axe, cleaving each other in half, all for the sake of the expression of martial skill and the spilling of blood in the name of Khorne. Tents had been erected for miles, and there were groups of artillery, dozens of Earthshakers, Hydras, Medusas and Manticores. Entire armored regiments were parked together. Tens of Leman Russes, vandalized and branded with the symbols of Chaos, there were dozens of Chimeras, Rhinos, and Salamanders. Topping it all off were the one-hundred-and-twenty-five thousand warriors in the encampment, all preparing to march the following day. None of these warriors knew, however, what watched high above them.

A mile up in the air, the gun cutter flew, seeking a safe area to land, and drop its deadly payload. Dempsey and his team stood by the ramp, ready to disembark as soon as the ramp dropped. Gallus sat in his chair, directing the ship. After what seemed like forever, the ship found a hidden place to land that was close enough to the group's target. The cutter came to a soft landing, the ramp descending even before the vessel had touched the ground. Dempsey and his unit rushed out of the ship, down the ramp, Hellguns at the ready, full black carapace blending them in with the night. The gun cutter flew off as soon as all of the men were on the ground, leaving only a single message.

**'The Emperor Protects,'** Gallus' voice echoed in their minds, and the men were truly alone. No vox would allow them to call for help, no air support would save them. They would have to make their own way back to the hive, likely during the following day's battle. But none of them were thinking about this. All were focused on the battle ahead, and on the destruction of everything they could place their demolition charges on.

It was several hundred yards to the massive encampment, and the seven men split up, their comm-beads shut off in the name of total vox silence. Kenneth and Frank rushed towards the likely direction of the food supplies. Roy and Sain moved towards the artillery, while Hector and Smith headed just to the right of their path, seeking out the armored vehicles. Dempsey activated his personal camouflage device, a piece of machinery that would cause him to take on the colors of whatever was around him. A give from Gallus himself. A potent gift, as well. He continued his quiet, stealthy movement towards the center of the camp, the most likely place of the man known as Lanius the Butcher, the ranking Khornate in charge of this chunk of the enemy army. Intelligence collected by Gallus told quite a story about this man. Once a particularly brutal serial killer on Massur Primaris, he was released during the destruction of that planet by Hrothgar's forces, and rose quickly in the Blood God's service. He was now a Favored of Khorne, and a dangerous opponent. He was gifted with unnatural strength and resilience, easily twice that of a normal man. Dempsey smile, thinking of the blessed power blade at his hip, and the Astartes grade bolt pistol attached to his leg. Dempsey was no ordinary man. He was a powerful servant of the Inquisition, and was armed and armored as such. Besides that, he was far stronger and more resilient than most men, as well. Not to the extent of his foe, but Dempsey was confident of his ability to match his enemy in single combat. Chainaxe versus a power blade? Not even a contest. Besides, the bolt pistol alone would splatter the bastard's brains on whatever poor son of a bitch who happened to be behind him.

Then Dempsey smiled as he eyed a Khornate guard, a bald, pale skinned giant of a man with the mark of Khorne branded into his face. The brute was leaning on a massive chainsword, looking bored. He stood in front of a large tent. Clearly, something important was in there. Dempsey slipped up behind him, took the power knife, and, with one swift movement, remove the man's head and shoved his body into the tent. He looked around the dark structure, holding up his crackling power weapon to illuminate the area. Crate after crate was piled up inside, all marked with 'Danger! Explosives!' on every side. Dempsey smiled widely. Christmas had come early. He took two of his spare demolition charges and attached them to the largest crates and timed them for an hour. That should be more than enough time for them to get out of the encampment, and if it wasn't...well, they'd have far more to worry about at that point. Just as Dempsey was leaving, he paused, and then stepped back. He set the explosives to blow if anyone tried to tamper with them. It was a setting Gallus had on all of his explosives, and it was a custom modification, like much of Gallus' extraneous settings on his supplies. He hated using standard equipment. He always said that it was too easy to counter, and that it was far more entertaining to give the enemy a little extra surprise with their deaths.

This particular setting, though, was remarkably simple. It was a switch that messed with the timer of the explosive. Any jarring movement or interference with the outside of the explosive set the timer to a single second, no matter how much it was already set to. The switch required every other part of the explosive to be primed and ready to explode as soon as the timer hit zero, and they were kept in heavily armored containers in an extremely secure environment in his ship, just in case, but Dempsey had to admit, they were a pretty clever device, despite their dangers.

As soon as he flicked the switches, he moved as quickly as he could without being loud. The switches were known to be temperamental, and he didn't want to be near it if some Khornate set it off early. He liked being intact.

A few minutes later, and a few hundred yards further into the camp, a small, almost inaudible beep sounded in his ear. It was a small signal, almost undetectable with the background noise of everything else being sent through the air, and it let him know that the artillery had been rigged to blow. One hour til. Roy and Sain were withdrawing. Dempsey didn't respond in anyway. They didn't have a way to do so.

A few minutes after that, a vibration in his ear told him that the armor was rigged, as well. Hector and Smith were heading out, then. Just two targets left.

It seemed to take forever for Dempsey to reach the center of the camp, but he finally did. The bloody tents got thicker as he did, and more and more small arenas began appearing, with Khornates fighting inside them. As he finally got to that inner circle, though, he was mildly surprised. There was very little security. Just three, large tents in a semi-circle around a huge bonfire with butchered, skinned bodies crucified outside of them. Dempsey grimaced, but continued to skirt around the fire. Bright lights tended to make the camouflage technology more obvious. He edged closer to the three main tents, and was almost at the flap when a large figure strode out, passing just in front of him, forcing Dempsey to take several steps back. The figure was a giant of a man, easily two or three inches taller than Dempsey, and far broader. The man wore bloody carapace armor, and a gory chainaxe was held in his hand. The mark of Khorne was branded on his dark-skinned face, and his bald head was covered in scars. Two muscular bodyguards, each about Dempsey's size, wearing blood covered flak armor and wielding chain-fists, walked out next, flanking their leader. The large man took a few steps, and then turned around, burning red eyes narrowed in suspicion, nostrils flaring.

"Someone is here who shouldn't be," he rumbled in a deep, gravely voice that almost hurt Dempsey's throat just listening to it. Then, the hateful eyes landed on Dempsey's concealed form, and the man lunged with a roar.

_"Blood for the Blood God!"_ and Dempsey barely dodged the swing from the man's chainaxe. The Chaos leader was inhumanly fast, and his follow-up strike struck Dempsey's chestplate, carving a deep grove in the armor, causing the former Marine to growl. That did it.

He drew his power knife and slashed out, carving through his foe's carapace with ease, disemboweling the Chaos Lord, but to little effect. If anything, his opponent became more fierce. Dempsey ducked a slash from the chainaxe that would have removed his head and stabbed upward, going under his enemy's long arms and plunging the power weapon straight into the heart of his foe. The warlord howled in rage and pain as the power field of the weapon destroyed his most vital of organs utterly, burning it to nothing inside his chest. Dempsey ripped his weapon out of his foe's body, and, as his opponent fell, slashed again and removed the dying man's head. He'd be damned if he'd risk something that tainted possibly recovering. With a vicious smile, Dempsey turned to the two bodyguards, and found himself staring at well over a dozen Khornates, all holding various chain weapons, all smiling with cruel anticipation. Dempsey turned and ran, drawing his bolt pistol as he did, the hoard of twisted figures charging after him, roaring in their thirst for his blood.

Dempsey smiled wryly as he ran, knife in one hand, gun in the other. Just like old times.


	4. First Engagement

** A/N: Thanks to AbscondingCascade of Twisting the Hellmouth for this idea. I will be adding a list of the music I write to, which will hopefully enhance the reading experience. To create a playlist of them all, use whatever music program you have, then go to youtube, copy the links to these songs once you search them, and then go to the sight below and follow the instructions.**  
><strong>March of the Khornates: War ZonePiece by Piece, both by Slayer.**  
><strong>War Scene for this Chapter: Hands of DoomSleipnir by Manowar.**  
><strong>Gallus' Theme: Let the Gods Decide, by Manowar.<strong>  
><strong>Dempsey's Theme: War Zone, by Slayer.<strong>  
><strong>Theme of the Story: 115 by Elena Siegman, Beauty of Annihilation by Elena Siegman, Hands of Doom by Manowar, War Zone by Slayer, God or Man by Manowar.<strong>  
><strong>The last fifth or so of this chapter was written with Slayer's 'War Zone' on a loop.<strong>  
><strong>Go to Z a m z a r . c o m  u r l , without spaces. Paste the link into the first bar. Select the type of file you want, probably MP3. Type in your email, let it convert the file, then check your email for the file. Download, and boom. It's an amazing service, and in almost a year of using it free, I've not gotten a single spam mail due to giving them the email. Seriously, it's great. USE IT.**  
><strong>Alright, playlistfanboying for Zamzar over. Enjoy the chapter, and, if you like it, recommend it to others. I'm getting so little reviews here, it's getting hard to write!:(**  
>–<strong>Start Chapter–<strong>

General Oliver watched over the battlefield from the Governor's Spire. The large window on the wall, actually a massive display that gave them a view of the battlefield as though they weren't enclosed in the massive dome of the Hive, showed an impressive scene. Two lines of their forces, massive lines, stood between the hoards of Chaos and Hive Scylla. The PDF Forces were arranged behind the miles of trenches, all filled with razor wire, and the massive minefields, both the products of the three days Gallus' gallant forces had bought them. The men had yet to return, and were presumed dead. Oliver's face set into a grimace. He would see that their sacrifice wasn't in vain. The traps were set, the PDF was ready to meet the forces of Chaos. The Imperial Line was arranged in an inward facing crescent, ready to receive the charge that the enemy always used to break their foes. Only this time, the crescent would encircle the foe, surrounding them and finishing the job of the minefields, razor wire, and sustained fire from las-guns had started. Behind the fire line were the heavy stubber and heavy bolter emplacements, to cover a retreat if needed, unlikely though that was. Their artillery pieces were being kept in the back, raining shells every few minutes on the enemy emplacement, even as he thought. He had ordered that the fire was to continue no matter what, and was to stay focused on the enemy artillery once the main forces of the two armies closed. The last thing Oliver wanted was for the artillery to get mixed into the infantry fight.  
>"Do you think it will work?" Governor Harold asked from behind him, anxiety clear in the man's tone. Oliver didn't answer immediately. Oliver knew he wasn't <em>really<em> a general. He only held his rank because his late father had wanted him to have it. It had been that way on Carana for centuries. Nobody had really expected an experienced general to be needed. They were paying for it now, though. If it weren't for Colonel Woods and Interrogator Gallus...the thought was terrible. But all of the classes and books Oliver had read seemed to agree.  
>They would win this battle.<br>"Yes, Governor," Oliver finally said, "I do."  
>–Scene Break–<br>Gallus stood atop a sand-dune, surveying the battlefield. A cool aura surrounded him, a guard against the blazing heat of Carana's seemingly endless, toxic deserts. It was this reason that all of the warriors on the battlefield, including Gallus, wore rebreathers. Just behind his small spot of cool air, a vast army extended in a crescent, the points of which extended far beyond his little dune, facing the minefields and razor trenches. He saw the few tanks that they did have sitting behind the main army, a few hundreds of meters behind him and the crescent. The artillery was miles behind him, behind the heavy weapon emplacements and dug-in troops, firing continuously at the enemy forces coming towards them. One hundred and forty thousand PDF soldiers were on the field today. Four thousand were dug in behind the main lines, another two thousand guarded each flank, ready to be called into the main fight, or to cover the retreat, at any moment. Gallus' eyes fell on the approaching enemy army. A massive hoard, one-hundred-and-twenty-five-thousand strong, charging the PDF forces. Gallus extended his awareness to the men around the dune he stood atop. Two hundred of the Inquisition's best. Armed with Hellguns, armored in carapace, their jobs were to be the pole behind his spearhead. He would punch into the Khornate lines, and they would follow, wreaking havoc in his wake.  
>Explosions sounded faintly in the distance. The Chaos hoard had reached the minefield. Sand and blood and bodies burst just over a mile away, dozens of lives being destroyed. Gallus smiled as he reached out, touching their pain. They rushed on, undaunted, but still, they died in agony, and that was what he now savored. The pain and death of the traitors was the sweetest sensation he could read in others.<br>Minutes passed, and the heretics finally cleared a path through the mines, and rushed onwards through the razor wire. Men fell through the disguised trenches, and were cut to ribbons by their own agonized thrashing. One mile left. The Khornates charged onwards, using the corpses of their fellows as bridges across the razor wire, and hit the next minefield. More eruptions of sand and flesh, and now the howls of their foes were audible. The artillery stopped, recalibrating to fire far beyond the enemy lines, suppressing any attempts by the foe to use their own artillery. The enemy was closing with the PDF. The risk of friendly-fire by the Earthshakers was too great. As Gallus watched, las fire began to flash en masse as the PDF engaged the enemy as they drew into rage. Gallus stepped down from his dune.  
>"Alright, men," he said briskly as he began moving forward, and then breaking into a telekinetically enhanced run, "Let's do this! <em>For the Emperor!"<em>  
>The warcry echoed far behind him as his own forces, and then the closest PDF mimicked him, and then the rest of the PDF began their own cries of war, and the battle officially began.<br>–Scene Break–  
>Colonel Woods sat atop one of the three Chimeras his force had been issued. The rest of the two thousand men were foot sloggers, a few of whom were lucky enough to be manning the covered heavy stubber emplacements. The rest stood in the heat of their barren world, guarding the flanks. Colonel Woods sighed, and took a drink of water from his canteen. Bastard PDF heads had put him here deliberately. They'd never really liked him, or welcomed him. They were all nobles, and viewed him as a lowly soldier. Once more, anger at the Lord General who had dumped him here filled him. In the far distance, he could see the explosions, the flashes of las fire, he could hear the distant wumph!s of the tank guns firing. He should be there, in the midst of the battle. Doing something that <em>mattered.<em> Not babysitting the rejects of the PDF.  
>But it wasn't his job to question the decisions of his <em>superiors.<em> That's what had got him sent here in the first place, after all.  
>–Scene Break–<br>Gallus ran over the sand, his psychic power keeping his steps as light and steady as if he was running on smooth rockcrete. He was closing in with the Khornate forces. The bloody vanguard of his foes were a mere fifty meters in front of him. Gallus smiled, even as las bolts began really killing the enemy. They were now well within range.  
>Gallus jumped high, far higher than any mortal should, the terrible power of the Warp allowing him to defy the will of gravity. He sped through the air and dove straight into the Khornate forces, impacting the ground with immense power.<p>

The effect was gratifying, he had to admit. As he touched the ground, he released a pulse of telekinetic energy that expanded around him in a sphere. Easily twenty enemy soldiers were lifted up and thrown wildly by the force of his will, their necks snapping, limbs breaking as they fell back to the ground with terminal force. Gallus stood in the center of the crater his blast had created, and threw out his arms and brought them down. Three, then six, bolts of psychic power fell around him as the horde of chaos-touched psychopaths surrounded him, each bolt exploding with the kinetic force of a frag grenade. Men were torn apart, thrown into their fellows, broken by the force released by Gallus' powers. Breathing heavily from the effort of calling the psychic grenades into being, he threw his arms forward, and called into being two blades of invisible force, edged sharper than any mortal blade, and threw these blades into a complex dance of edged death, the skill required to use the blades far less than the sheer power needed for his psychic bolts.  
>Gallus leapt, spun, slashed and jabbed with his arms, the blades obeying his will, killing all who entered a ten foot radius around him. The sand beneath his foes then began to open into dark holes, swallowing the Khornate warriors and then closing back around them. Twisting gestures with his hands snapped necks and destroyed the motors of the chain axes used by his enemies. As he continued his psychic slaughter, the men he commanded were following his lead, hellbolts raining into the hoard as the Inquisitorial Storm Troopers punched their way into the enemy army, making their way to Gallus' side. Brief, bright flashes of energy left small, blackened holes in the blood-soaked flak armor of the Khornates and vaporized the internal organs of the same men. Screams of pain filled the area as the height of Imperial personal las technology vaporized stomachs and the acids within, causing the body to eat away at itself, as livers and kidney's were incinerated, leaving only blackened tissue and burnt flesh, as holes were burnt in lungs, and air was brought in, only to exit the lungs within the body itself.<br>While the Storm Troopers engaged the Khornates, as the PDF fired from farther away, smaller, weaker las bolts scarring brain tissues black but not gone, Gallus continued his deadly rampage. He reached out with his mind and shut down the vital systems of five men at a thought, and, with a downward swing of his arm, brought down an immensely powerful bolt of psychic energy that burst with terrifying power.

Each time Gallus focused his powers and swung his arm, a dozen men died. After the third blast, Gallus rushed forward, drawing his personal weapon, brought down from his ship in orbit for this battle. It was a long wide-bladed, double-edged sword, and seemed completely mundane. Unless, of course, one looked closer, and saw the runes on the blade itself. Then a knowledgeable person might discern the true, deadly nature of the weapon.  
>Gallus swung the Force Weapon up, striking the chain-sword of his foe and shattering the weapon utterly. The next stroke of the powerful blade tore through his enemy's flak armor and cut the man in two. From there Gallus sped up, moving with lightning swiftness and terrifying speed, his weapon tearing through armor and flesh, sprays of blood from severed heads and gore from ruined chests covered Gallus armor, and the Khornate soldiers began to worry that someone had accidentally summoned a daemon. Accompanying Gallus' superhuman sword blows were flashes of telekinesis, causing heads to to twist as necks snapped violently, and men to began wildly flailing with their chain-axes, severing the heads and limbs of their fellows. All the while, the Inquisitorial Storm Troopers continued their own, terrible advance, slaughtering their way through the center mass of the enemy army. From behind them, the PDF was just meeting the forces of Chaos in direct combat. Lasguns flashed and bayonets stabbed into Chaotic flesh, and the screams of the dying and wounded filled the air. The flow of blood soaked the sand and the scent of burnt flesh permeated the battlefield. The eruption of the guns of the distant Leman Russes sounded as they engaged the enemy tanks, and cries of "<em>For the Emperor!" <em>and "_Burn the Heretic! Kill the Mutant! Purge the Unclean!"_ echoed throughout the battlefield as the PDF's crescent closed in over the Khornate army, the Chimeras of Hive Scylla striking at the enemy's vulnerable rear. Someone with a bird's eye view of the battle would be shocked at the carnage and death being wrought, particularly by the small force in the center of the two armies, lead by a single figure with a sword. A person with particularly good eyesight would notice a single, small vehicle driving at breakneck speed from the far-distant camp of the Khornates, jumping sand-dunes with no regard for their own safety.  
>A more perceptive person, however, would notice the two large groups of armored vehicles coming from the far left and right of the now-closed crescent, far enough to avoid the mines and razor wire entirely. And an even more perceptive person would realize the danger these vehicles represented as they bypassed the main PDF army and circled around to the secondary defensive lines.<br>–Scene Break–  
>Dempsey stood in the damaged Chimera, his head visible where the roof had been torn off by an enemy Sentinel wielding a chain weapon back in the Khornate camp, staring anxiously at the battle ahead. They were late, far too late. The armored column had left ahead of them, they needed to get to Gallus before the enemy tanks did.<br>"Damn it, Kenneth, can't you drive any faster?" Dempsey snarled. If they didn't get there, the battle would be lost...  
>"No, I can't, sir. We're moving at top speed right now." Kenneth drove towards another dune, jumping it. Every bit of help getting them there faster was welcome at this point.<br>"Sir, we still can't reach them via vox," Roy informed Dempsey apologetically.  
>"I don't think we'll make it, sir," Hector sighed, and Dempsey gritted his teeth.<br>"Maybe we won't," he allowed, "But when we get there, I want all of you ready for combat. We're at least going to get Gallus out of that trap, or die trying."  
>"You know it, sir," Smith assured him and the other six men voiced their assent. Dempsey bared his teeth in a twisted mixture of grin and grimace. The battle was going to be lost this day. But Dempsey was going to make the enemy pay in blood for every aspect of that victory. And he knew damn well that Gallus would do the same.<br>"Alright, then!" Dempsey growled, "Let's go! Hoo-ah!  
>–Scene Break–<br>Colonel Woods was currently watching the distant battle. He could tell that the battle plan had gone off as anticipated, which was odd, to say the least. Years in the Guard had taught him that no battle plan _ever_ survived contact with the enemy. Given this experience, a growing, nagging sense that he was missing something extremely important had been bothering him for over an hour.  
>"Sir, what in that?" a young sergeant asked, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing in the distance. Colonel Woods turned his gaze to where the young soldier was pointing. A very large dust cloud was heading straight for them. Colonel Woods sighed. Great, a sand storm, just what they needed. As he looked at the cloud, though, a sinking sensation began to appear in his gut, and he raised his binoculars, dreading what he would see.<br>A large group of tanks, heading directly towards his position. He tried to count, and stopped at over a dozen, accompanied by even more Chimeras. One of his soldiers swore as he saw the armor as well. Colonel Woods dove towards the vox.  
>"Command, this is Colonel Woods, a large group of tanks is approaching my position, we need an artillery strike on them, now! There's too many to fight-"<br>"Colonel Woods, this is General Cameron, and I must inform you that the artillery is focused on suppressing the enemy artillery fire right now, on General Oliver's orders.  
>"Frak Oliver's orders!" Woods snapped, "This is an emergency! If those tanks get here, they will smash through our lines and we'll be well and truly <em>fraked!"<em>  
>"Colonel Woods, you will mind your tongue! General Oliver's orders are clear. You will deal with this problem yourself. Or perhaps a reassignment, if that proves too difficult?" the snobby voice on the other end of the vox was clearly finding the entire situation amusing. Woods was shaking with sheer rage. This <em>fool<em> was going to lose them this war!  
>"With all do respect," Woods started, trying desperately to keep his voice level, his knuckles white with the grip he was maintaining on the vox, "Frak you, frak your wife, and frak your entire damn family!"<br>And with that, Woods shut off the vox and turned to his men as he set his commbead to address his entire two thousand soldiers, spread apart as they were.  
>"Men," he began, "We've got more than a dozen tanks heading our way, and even more APCs. We're not getting any help from on high. I've been told to deal with this myself. And you know what? I will. I'm sick of dealing with incompetent leaders, with nobles playing soldier. We're going to die today, and it's their fault. It's their frakking fault. I don't know about you, but that <em>pisses me off!"<em>  
>Anger was beginning to show on his men's faces, and many voices shouted out in agreement.<br>"We're going to hold this line, but _not_ because we've been told to!" Woods continued, "We're going to hold this line because _this is our frakking world, _and I'll be _damned _before I roll over and let some heretic take it! We're going to hold this line because it's our families and our homes on the line! We're going to hold this line, _because the Emperor is on our side!_ And I'm not going to be the rat bastard who _let's Him down!_"  
>Cheers and roars of assent met Colonel Woods words, and with those roars, Woods leapt into the heavy bolter nest by the nearest of his three Chimeras as the two thousand men rushed on, while those who didn't stepped into their machine-gun nests.<br>Woods smiled. He knew he was going to die. But damn it, he'd die a hero.  
>–Scene Break–<br>Gallus through out his left arm and the force of his psychic attack ripped the skins from four of the enemy, even as he smote them with the force weapon in his right hand. Gallus smiled as he spun and sliced another Khornate in half as the traitor tried to attack him from behind. This was the first time he had used this recently acquired weapon, and he now resolved to use it much more often. A chain axe whirred by his face, and Gallus stepped back and slashed out with his blade, disemboweling the heretic. He had long since been drenched in the blood of his enemies, as had most of his remaining soldiers. They'd taken some casualties, but far less than he'd have thought, given the numbers that they faced. He supposed Imperial carapace armor had proved superior to heretical chain weapons.  
>As that thought occurred to him, his attention was caught by the unmistakable cracking sound of a multilaser. Gallus turned to the source of the sound, absently psychically gripping the men around him and sending them spinning and flailing wildly with their weapons, causing them to become a far greater threat to their allies than him. The roar of the laser continued, and a Chimera was now visible through the hoard, its stubber spewing death into the enemy, the flashing multilaser carving a path to Gallus. But this wasn't the surprising part. Standing in the Chimera, firing a bolt pistol into the hoard around the vehicle, was a man Gallus had thought dead.<br>"Gallus, it's a trap!" Dempsey shouted as he pulled up near Gallus, and his unit began firing their Hellguns into the forces around them, "There's a regiment of tanks and other armor coming up on our left and right! Their going to come from behind, and they're beat us here! The attack has already started, they'll be attacking the rear of the army in minutes!"  
>Gallus' eyes widened briefly, and then his expression hardened. He leapt into the Chimera.<br>"Drive me there," he ordered, even as he sent out a powerful psychic signal, calling in his ace in the hole. The artillery flying through the air made it dangerous, but this might be their only hope.  
>"Yes, sir!" Dempsey smiled, and Kenneth flooring the Chimera, driving through the Khornate hoard. Gallus sent a psychic message to all of his soldiers, warning them about the trap, and telling them to do whatever was necessary to get back to the rear of the line, even as he called down telekinetic strikes from the sky, giving his men what aid he could.<br>And then he was far away from his men, driving through this hoard, with Dempsey's unit desperately firing their Hellguns and stabbing at the Khornates climbing the Chimera, even as it sped through the enemy. Gallus turned his attention to the Chimera, and pulse after psychic pulse sent Khornates flying through the air as though tossed by an Ogryn. Dempsey's heavy stubber helped somewhat in clearing their path, but the hoard of enemies was so thick, it still didn't seem to matter much.  
>Gallus' eyes turned to the sky, even as he fired his next psychic pulse. They needed to make it. He reached out, seeking anyone who could help, but none of the soldiers held voxes. Finally, though, his mind touched a firm soul, a warrior, and a leader, and someone faithful to the Emperor. Someone likely to have a vox, to boot.<br>_'This is Interrogator Gallus! There is an enemy trap, tanks are flanking us, inform high command! The artillery needs to destroy those vehicles before it's too late!'_  
><em>'No shit,' <em>came the thought in the other man's head, and Gallus recognized Colonel Woods in that mind. Before the man could respond further, or try to, Gallus saw everything he needed to see, and rage unlike any he'd felt for a long, long time filled him. His next pulse was stronger by far than he had intended, and, instead of merely throwing his foes off, it completely caved in their rib cages, forcing shards of bone through the men's stomachs, their lungs, their hearts, shredding their internal organs.  
>Gallus would kill those incompetent fools in the High Command if it was the last thing he ever did.<br>–Scene Break–  
>Woods had to admit, as he fired the heavy bolter at the oncoming tanks, it was gratifying to know that the Interrogator agreed with his assessment of the PDF High Command. Too bad he wouldn't live to see the fireworks.<br>_'Woods, fall back!'_ came another psychic order, and Woods almost stopped firing in sheer shock.  
>"<em>What?"<em> he asked out loud, drawing an odd look from one of his men. Woods didn't notice.  
><em>'Withdraw! You can't do anything, I've just seen how many armored vehicles the enemy has! Thirty-five tanks, sixteen Chimeras, fourteen Rhinos, and almost seven hundred infantry riding with them. You're no use to me dead. Fall. The. Warp. BACK!'<em>  
>Woods looked ahead, and realized just how right the Interrogator was. And also just how late the order had come.<br>Roughly thirty meters in front of his position, thirty Leman Russes were preparing to fire. He heard the massive, deafening explosions as the tanks fire, saw his world explode into light and sand and dust, and then fell into darkness as a terrible force struck him, and he knew no more.  
>The tanks rolled through the broken, retreating lines, firing into the tight concentrations of fleeing soldiers while the bolters of the Chimeras bit at their heels like a hound of war.<br>At the same time, another group of tanks, twenty strong, escorted by another twenty Chimeras, slammed into the other flank, punching effortlessly through the defensive lines, and the two tank regiments turned to the north, firing their rounds into the rear of the massive PDF army. Explosions from the tank shells killed men by their dozens, tightly packed as they were.  
>The PDF High Command watched this scene with growing horror. They ordered the artillery to fire upon the enemy tanks, but it was too late, far too late. The Chimeras of the enemy were already swarming the positions of the Earthshakers and Medusas, heavy bolter fire concentrating on the weapons themselves while the Chaotic foot soldiers butchered the soldiers manning the weapons. Once the slaughter was finished, the Chimeras sped back towards the battlefield, dogs of war racing towards their fleeing prey, the fangs that were the bolters chewing through the fleeing soldiers, multilasers ripping into the machine-gun nests that would have covered the PDF's retreat, and as the Chimeras passed these nests, the men riding within would leap out and take the nests for themselves, turning the Emperor's guns on His loyal soldiers.<br>The High Command of the PDF continued to watch as their winning battle turned to a route, and they had the singular horror of the knowledge that it was well and truly their fault.  
>–Scene Break–<br>The battlefield itself was dissolving into complete chaos. The rear of the PDF crescent was shattered, the forces fleeing from the tanks firing into them, pushing forward into the body of the Khornate hoard, even as the men behind them sought to flee that same body of foes. The machine-gun nests were quickly being seized by the enemy, and whenever a group of PDF soldiers managed to escape the killing grounds of the now almost-fifty enemy tanks they were cut down by the powerful anti-personnel weapons. Men in blood-soaked flak armor were torn to shreds by the roaring bolters, stub rounds punched gaping holes in their bodies, and sustained fire from forty-eight Leman Russes was creating clouds of exploded flesh and pools of blood and piles of shredded meat. Shrapnel tore through flak armor effortlessly, leaving the men inside screaming in agony as the burning shards tore through their soft tissue. Chimeras with their bolters circled the PDF army, firing wildly into the greatest concentrations of men, bolt rounds tearing off limbs and blowing great bloody holes in chests. Howls of pain and terror echoed throughout the battlefield, desperate pleas for help went unanswered as the Chaos soldiers hacked apart all the fleeing and fighting PDF that they could reach. The pincer movement was well and truly closed, the Khornate hoard on one side, the tanks and the PDF's own defenses on the other.  
>This was the war Gallus now traveled through, firing his own Hellpistol into the forces around him, in addition to his psychic strikes. The armor of the Chimera was covered in deep gouges and burns from the last ten minutes of driving, and its heavy bolter was completely out of ammo. All six men of Dempsey's unit were now out of charge for their Hellguns and las-pistols both, and were now reduced to stabbing out with their bayonets at the men who were trying to climb the Chimera, and doing so faster than Gallus alone could blast them off. They could now see PDF men fighting in small groups in the middle of the Khornates, which was a welcome sight. It meant that they were close to their own lines.<br>Then they saw the explosions. A few dozen meters away was the wall of PDF soldiers, trampling over each other in their futile attempts to escape the enemy tanks, the same tanks that were firing their explosive shells into the mass of soldiers. It was these explosions that Gallus heard. Stand up, he saw the next volley striking the PDF, saw the spray of blood, saw limbs fly through the air, heard the terrified screams, and saw the tank turn its barrel towards the Chimera speeding through the hoard of soldiers, and realized that he was about to die, as he turned, seemingly in slow motion, to jump from the vehicle, even as Dempsey slammed through the Khornate lines and into a group of PDF warriors, driving over them, howls of pain following them as Dempsey slammed the brakes, cursing as he did, not wanting to run anymore of his allies over. Then Dempsey looked up, and saw the tank pointing its barrel at them, even as several Khornates climbed the Chimera, then several more, and several more, before Gallus remember to blast them off, sending them all flying, just as his feet hit the sand. Dempsey was jumping as well, just as the rest of his unit was turning, confused, and then moving as well in dawning horror, but it was clearly too late; the tank was preparing to fire, and there was no way that they'd clear the blast radius in time.  
>Then, from the sky, a great white blob of pure energy came striking down directly on the top of the tank aiming at them. A tremendous explosion shook the earth as the ammo supply within the tank cooked off, adding its own power to the blinding explosion of light. As the after images faded, Gallus became aware of the sound of engines, as well as heavy bolter and las-cannon fire. He looked up, and saw his Cutter. The vehicle fired its nose-mounted plasma weapon again, destroying another tank, its las-cannons firing precise, killing shots into the other tank's engines and ammo supplies, and explosion after explosion shook the earth. It was too little, though, far too little. The tanks present in the gun cutter's range were only a small fraction of the overall number of enemy armored vehicles. All it was doing was giving Gallus and his forces enough time to escape, and Gallus was damn well going to make the most of that time.<br>He and Dempsey were both running for the ship, as were several PDF soldiers, and numerous Khornates. Only Gallus, Dempsey, and the Inquisitorial soldiers made it through the gun cutter's hail of bolter fire, though. They were the only ones not designated as hostile by the ship's targeting systems.  
>Gallus rushed up the ramp even as it descended, Dempsey and the other soldiers on his heels, and the cutter took off before the ramp had finished closing. The ship continued firing all around it, and Gallus seized psychic control of the ship from the autopilot. He used the ship's sensors to survey the battlefield, and felt horror and rage and disgust rising up within him. The PDF was routing, the Khornates were slaughtering them as they ran, the tanks and machine-gun nests making damn sure that they had no where to run in any case. The entirety of the two-hundred strong force that Gallus had brought into the field had been killed, overwhelmed by the Khornate hoard.<br>Righteous hate filled Gallus' heart.  
>His men's deaths would be paid for in <em>blood.<em>  
>–Scene Break–<br>"Eighty percent casualties," Gallus said, his voice soft, controlled, as he turned to face the PDF Commanders.  
>It was the day following the disastrous battle, and Gallus was standing in the middle of the Governor's office, his black armored feet sinking into the red plush carpet. The long, ovular hardwood table was directly in front of him,and behind the eight finely dressed PDF officers stood over a dozen Inquisitorial Soldiers, dressed in their full black carapace armor, standing out against the lightly colored walls. At the end of the room, sitting behind his beautiful wooden desk, sat the tired looking Governor Harold. Standing next to him was an equally tired looking General Oliver.<br>"We took eighty percent casualties yesterday. _Eighty. Percent. Casualties._ Out of one-hundred and forty-_thousand_ soldiers. We lost one-hundred and twelve _thousand_ men yesterday. Given that we outnumbered the enemy by fifteen thousand men, why do you think we lost one-hundred and twelve-thousand men?"  
>None of the PDF Officers spoke. They were too busy shaking with fear. None had known what would happen when Gallus had called this meeting, except that it wouldn't end well. None of them had realized just how frightening a calm, cold Interrogator could be.<br>"No one knows? Not _one _of you knows why we lost?" Gallus asked with a chilly smile. Then he reached out with his right arm and psychically yanked up one of the PDF commanders, a snarl on his face as he clenched his fist, cutting off the man's supply to air.  
>"I find that lack of awareness <em>highly <em>disturbing!" Gallus snarled as the man tried to pry the invisible hands from his throat,

"After all," he continued to address the choking man, "it was _you_, personally, that denied the artillery strike that _would have annihilated the tank force that slaughtered us!"_  
>Gallus opened his hand and thrust his palm forward, blasting the man into the wall. The officer picked himself up, gasping, and sat back in his chair, glancing fearfully at Gallus.<br>"Interrogator, with all due respect, it was General Oliver's order-" one of the men at the table tried to say, but was interrupted when the Inquisitorial Trooper behind him grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the table.  
>"Speak when spoken to, and no sooner!" the soldier snarled, and then released the man and stepped back.<br>"That brings me to my next point," Gallus said, and turned to the General.  
>"General Oliver, you are relieved of your command. Your failure in the last battle in inexcusable, your incompetence shocking. If a Commissar was present on this world, you would not be standing here right now. Since there isn't one, your sentencing falls on me."<br>Oliver met Gallus' gaze and inclined his head in acceptance. He knew what was coming, and would not fight it. One hundred and twelve thousand lives were on his head. It was only right that he should pay for it with his life.  
>"That said," Gallus continued, "You have experience with this world, and knowledge of the layout of the hives, so you may yet prove yourself useful. You are hereby reassigned as my secretary. You will obey my and my warriors every command, and will answer all questions with complete honesty. You will speak when spoken to, or if you have an <em>extremely<em> important message to convey. If you violate _any_ of these terms, or just upset me or one of my soldiers, your death sentence will be reinstated. This is your penance, Oliver. Be grateful for it."  
>Oliver's eyes widened in shock, and then he simply nodded. It was far more merciful than he had expected.<br>"As for _you_," Gallus grinned coldly, and turned to face the PDF again, "your incompetence far exceeds General Oliver's. You ignored the warnings of an experienced soldier, and the loss of this battle rests on your soldiers. The loss of two hundred veterans of the Inquisition rest on your shoulders. _Do it."_  
>Eight of the Shock Troops behind the PDF drew their las-pistols and fired once into the back of each PDF Officer's head. Eight men slumped with the crack! of the las bolts, and were dead.<br>Gallus looked upon the dead members of the PDF high command, and smiled slightly. Then his smile faded, and he turned to Oliver and the Governor.  
>"Remove the bodies, and then meet me here in an hour. We need to begin preparations for the siege."<br>–End Chapter–


	5. Battle for Hive Scylla

**A/N: I have been sick for a while, and distracted by school stuff for the rest. Sorry for the delay.**

–Start Chapter–

Hive Scylla had been busy, the last few days. Beneath the dimly lit dome of the massive city, just over one-hundred-and-forty-thousand soldiers remained in the Planetary Defense Force, arrayed against the ninety thousand remaining Chaos warriors. The Chaos troops had the advantage of tanks, APCs, and heavy artillery. The PDF had an enclosed, domed over hive and fifty thousand more warriors, all armed with las weapons. None of them wanted to risk engaging the Khornates head on, not after the disaster days before. They had lost all of their artillery and tanks in that fight.

Interrogator Gallus, now the leader of the armed forces of Hive Scylla, had designed a plan for the defense of the hive, a plan that the soldiers universally approved of. He'd drafted every able-bodied man he could arm between the ages of eighteen to twenty five, and forced them into the PDF. This amounted to seven point eight million men, the total number of las guns he had, out of a city of almost one and a half billion. He had plenty of explosives and heavy stubbers, which were Hive Scylla's main products, but comparatively few las weapons. In light of the shortage of weaponry, he'd decided to use the abundance of spare manpower, and proceeded to draft every able-bodied man and woman, without exception, to help build the defenses in the hive. The last four days had been spent mining the city with demo-charges, remote connected to switches given to the more competent sergeants of the PDF, with orders to detonate the charges whenever a building's collapse would be most detrimental to the enemy. Buildings had been torn down and apart, the rubble used to build ten and barricades manned by PDF soldiers with heavy weapons. Earthworks and sandbag emplacements had been constructed on all of the wide roads of the hive, blocking all places where the standard barricades could not. The factories had been producing tank traps, which were rows upon rows of dense metal, made in the shape of an 'X' with a metal bar welded through the center, were aligned such that the gaps between the traps were far too narrow for the tanks to drive through, the rows too long for the tanks to drive around, and were set up for miles around the main entrance to the city.

Hive Scylla didn't just rely on its barricades and traps, however. Hive Scylla was the leading producing of heavy stubbers and stub ammunition on Carana. The factory's had enough of the machine guns and ammunition to cover the entire city with the heavy weapons and still have guns to spare. Gallus had long since ordered the PDF to set up machine-gun emplacements throughout the city, blocking all paths that infantry could move through easily. In a stroke of genius, Dempsey had suggested that some of the areas with open roadway that would take too much time to properly fortify be only lightly obstructed and surrounded with numerous stubber nests, but put far more difficult avenues of passages in every convenient place nearby. It would make it easier to funnel the Khornate charges into killing grounds.

It took four days and the efforts of almost eight hundred million men and women of the hive, but the preparations were finally complete. Hive Scylla had become a death trap for the invading army.

–Scene Break–

"So, you think we did it?" a gruff voice asked the black-armored figure staring down at the massive city from the balcony of the Governor's Spire, a structure that stretched half a mile into the air.

Gallus' attention was drawn from the city to the man behind him. He turned to face Dempsey, the man who had risen so quickly to become his most trusted lieutenant.

"I think so, yes," Gallus said, as yet another explosion echoed from outside of the hive walls. The enemy had been shelling them for the last sixteen hours, and the Gallus knew that walls of the hive couldn't stand much more from the enemy's Earthshakers. It didn't help that the enemy was firing all of their shots into the main gate of the hive, a massive entrance large enough for three Warlords to walk in side by side. It had stood these last long hours, but it would fall soon. That was certain. Gallus was confidant, however, that they had bought enough time, first by the battle, then by the Khornates' needing to repair, and finally by the gate's endurance. Gallus knew that, within the next eight hours, ninety thousand Khornate warriors would force their way into the city, past the outer defenses, backed up by ninety Leman Russes, seventy-five Chimera APCs, and a few dozens of assorted stolen Rhinos. He knew that the city's defenses would only do so much to keep them outside of the hive.

Here a smile crossed the Interrogator's face. The city's inner defenses, however...those would be a far larger factor than the multilasers shooting the shells from the sky, or the heavy gates, or even the mines places upon and all around it in preparation for the gate's destruction. And even more than that, it would be the millions of Imperial citizens, fighting for their home, for the last free city on Carana, that would break the will of the Chaos troops.

Another explosion sounded from the far distant gates. Yes, the traitors would soon know the wrath of the Emperor's Faithful.

"Do you really think _they're_ ready?" Dempsey asked as he stepped beside Gallus and leaned down on the white marble balcony guard rail, looking down at the seemingly endless lines of humans, ordinary men given las-guns and whatever armor that they had been able to cobble together. Citizens, fighting in the Emperor's name, defending their world. Gallus knew what Dempsey was really asking. Would they break, in the face of the horrors of Chaos?

"Yes, they are," Gallus replied, "This is the end of the line. If Scylla falls, we all fall. This is the last free hive on the planet, and it'll be a good eight months until the Guard reinforcements get here, and they know that. They know Chaos will show them no mercy if they surrender. The air outside of the hive is toxic, if breathed in without protection for more than an hour or so. They know this, as well. There is no retreat from this fight, nowhere to fall back. The Governor's Spire is the last fortress before the civilian encampments. They'll defend this place unto their last breath, as surely as the Khornates will fight until the blood flows no longer. And we have far more breath than they have blood. We will take terrible casualties, yes, but we will win. I am sure of it. The city is too well fortified and our numbers too many for it to be otherwise."

Dempsey nodded, and smiled down at the mass of the defending army.

"How should I deploy our forces?" Dempsey asked, referring to the three hundred remaining Inquisitorial soldiers. Gallus was quiet a minute. It was a question that he had yet to decide upon, though mostly because he had been far too busy with all of the other preparations.

"Keep them in reserve," he said finally, "And deploy them in squads to wherever they're needed most during the battle. No more than twenty at once, unless a real emergency comes up."

Dempsey nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"It's just us, Dempsey," Gallus sighed, seeming suddenly weary, "You don't need to be formal."

Dempsey nodded again. Then-

"Lots of people are going to die in this fight, Gallus. Lots of _our_ people," he suddenly said, his tone almost reproachful. Gallus looked at the man leaning beside him.

"I'm aware of that, Tank," Gallus sighed, surprising Dempsey. The Interrogator rarely used Dempsey's first name.

"Then why use the civilians to bolster our forces? We can take them-" the former marine spoke up, his voice growing louder, before being interrupted.

"No, Tank, we can't!" Gallus cut him off harshly, "We cannot beat them with just the PDF. The PDF are woefully undertrained, and are facing vastly superior firepower. We need the reserve forces-"

"The cannon-fodder," Dempsey interrupted bitterly.

"The _cannon-fodder,_ then," Gallus snapped, "are needed to hold the hoards back. The enemy has the skill, the firepower, the armor, and the weapons. All we have is a battered army and a large amount of heavy weapons that won't do shit against armor! The reserve forces will give us the numbers to win, and they have guts, besides!" Gallus ran his hand through his hair, clearly annoyed, "Damn it, Dempsey, do you think I like this? The casualties for our side are going to be huge, but we need to win this!"

Dempsey looked away, then finally nodded.

"Yeah, you're right. I just...forget, sometimes, just how different things have gotten. Back in my time, we didn't need to send civilians to their deaths...but I _do_ understand. These guys aren't like the enemies I'm used to."

Gallus nodded his own acceptance of Dempsey's apology, and put a hand on his lieutenant's shoulder.

"It's a bad situation we're in. I understand your feelings. I know that _I'm_ not looking forward to the bloodbath awaiting us. It's got to be worse for you."

The two men looked down from the Spire onto the city below. Soon, it would be awash in blood.

–Scene Break–

Private Franklin Serres had been a young factory worker. He spent his days making stubber ammunition, joking with his friends, and enjoying what life in Hive Scylla had to offer. Then, the invasion had come. Franklin's family had remained in Hive Medusa, while Franklin sought a way out of working at the chemical factories of that hive. He'd found one when his former boss had told him of a position in Hive Scylla. Franklin had jumped on the chance, and had set off for his new home.

Then had come the invasion. Three hives, three wars. What seemed like an eternity ago, but was actually only six months before, a Chaos fleet had entered the system. It had destroyed the System Defense Forces, and had taken heavy casualties in turn, but their two main frigates, carrying the bulk of their forces, had made it to the only truly populated planet in the Carana system. Carana IV. Almost a million Chaos warriors had made planet fall, carrying the weaponry of three looted worlds. Three armies spread across the planet, each with well over one hundred thousand soldiers. The first army struck Hive Charybdis, far away in the North Pole. Nobody knew what had happened there, but the city fell in a single night. Hive Medusa lasted longer, though. It took two months of brutal warfare to take the hive, And in the end, it was the hive's own chemical facilities that destroyed it. Chlorine gas was cycled through the vents of the hive, vents that normally removed the stale air of the enclosed hive, and replaced it with purified air from the planet's foul atmosphere. The massive reservoir, far beneath the hive, was filled with biological agents, and the combined chemical and biological attack had wrought a death toll measured in the hundreds of millions. This, combined with the earlier, crushing defeat of the PDF in the field, had shattered Hive Medusa. Private Franklin hoped his family had died in those initial attacks. Far better for his parents, aunt, and younger siblings to die a quick death by gas or disease than to suffer for four months under the iron grip of Chaos.

Now, Hive Scylla was the last free hive, and a few days prior, he'd been drafted into the PDF. He'd welcomed the chance to strike back at the monsters that had destroyed his life, and had spent the last few days being told where to point the las gun, how to reload it, to wear this flak armor, and then to go help the building crews. It had been difficult, no, more than difficult, labor. But he'd been glad to do it, and he knew everyone else was, as well. They were the last line of defense for their planet, and the only hope for their families and friends and even just fellow humans that suffered terribly in the other hives.

For the last several hours, he'd been staring at the massive gates to the hive, the gates a mere half a mile before them. He stood atop the great barricade blocking the main avenue into the hive. It was a good barricade, really. It was made from chunks of collapsed building, sandbags, razor wire, and various rubble from the buildings considered tactically expendable. It stretched across the massive road, a road big enough for three Warlords to walk, shoulder to shoulder. The same road was covered in tank traps and surrounded by buildings, all with heavy stubber nests on their tops. The barricade itself boasted fourteen heavy stubbers and almost a thousand men with las guns. It was the first of many lines of defense against the invaders. Franklin grinned cruelly. He'd helped to build those defenses. Those Chaos bastards were in for one _hell_ of a surprise.

Another great explosion shook the hive, and another, and then, with a tremendous blast of fire and destruction, the great gates of Hive Scylla were blasted open, and Private Franklin aimed down the sites of his las gun. The battle had begun.

A massive tide of blood-soaked tanks charged through the gates, the Chimera APCs following next to them. Dozens, hundreds, even, of warriors jumped from the vehicles as they charged into the hive. The tanks drove straight into the tank traps, driving over and crushing a few, but the sheer number of the metal constructions stopped the great tanks in their tracks. The few Chimeras that had tried to drive through the fields ended up flipping themselves over as their momentum drove them into the metal field.

Las fire spit from the barricades as the hoard of foot soldiers followed in the wakes of the tanks, climbing through and over the traps, charging the barricade. A few stopped at the edge and fired missiles from their launchers at the barricades. The explosives detonated on the massive barrier, sending debris flying everywhere. Tank shells began to detonate, blowing huge chunks out of the barricade as the crews within the massive war machines gathered their wits and fired on the defenders. The heavy weapons opened up on the soldiers coming through the forest of traps, stub rounds tearing some apart, while the massed las fire from the men on the barricade punched tiny holes in others, coherent light burning through skin, flesh and bone.

The Khornate hoard didn't even hesitate in the face of enemy fire. The foot soldiers charged on, and the tanks redirected their massive main weapons towards the buildings sheltering the heavy stubbers, and missiles and multilaser fire struck and spat death at the weapon emplacements on the great barrier. It took mere minutes for the combined fire to blast a hole in the barricade. By the time the tanks ceased firing, the first wave from the hoard had made it through the field of steel traps, and hundreds of Khornate soldiers were climbing the wall and rushing through the gap in the defenses of the hive.

Las fire spat down on the traitors climbing the wall, striking down scores of the massed enemy forces, but scores more still came. Men climbed the wall faster than the defenders could strike them down, and a seemingly endless tide came from the gates, charging and howling their bloodthirst for all to hear.

Franklin shot a man in the face as he climbed up the barricade, and the snarling traitor fell, knocking several of his blood-soaked allies down as they climbed behind him. A sickening sound of flesh being severed and torn apart accompanied the whirring of a chain-weapon's motor, and the man next to Franklin screamed as a climbing warrior cut him in two. The enemy soldier, a large man in bloody flak armor, charged Franklin, swinging his chainaxe wildly.

_"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"_ the cultist howled, and Franklin fired his las gun point blank as he stepped back from the snarling blades. The las fire punched through the Khornate's armor, but the warrior's momentum carried him forward, and his charge knocked the young PDF soldier over. His las gun fell from his hands, and as Franklin scrabbled to recover the weapon, another enemy soldier ran up behind him, and brought his chainaxe down on Franklin's back just as Franklin's fingers closed around the las gun.

–Scene Break–

Gallus stood still on the Governor's Balcony, watching the battle raging far across the city. He could see their great barricade, and knew that it would fall soon enough. There was no other possibility. He knew what would happen with this fight. The Khornate's were too powerful, too organized, oddly enough, to be stopped easily. Gallus knew that the war would rage for several weeks, at least. The defenders would be slaughtered. Men would die in their thousands, in their tens of thousands, before the Chaos hoard began to slow. Each death was merely a delaying action. Gallus needed to grind the enemy down in a war of attrition. The defenses would take many, and the defender's sheer weight of fire would take many more. The Khornate's would see the streets of Hive Scylla run red with blood by the time the tides turned. Gallus smiled without humor. The tides _would_ turn. It was inevitable. This battle had exactly one possible end. A complete and utter rout of the Khornates. They were outnumbered over three hundred to one, and the defenses of the hive only added to that great number. There was simply no way for the war to end other than with an Imperial victory.

Gallus' eyes again focused on the distant fight, saw the tanks seeking ways around the barriers, running into minefields, even as a massive tide of red overwhelmed the great barricade and rushed the defenses behind it. Gallus knew that the cost of this victory would be high. The blood of the Imperium would choke the hive before the war was over. Rage boiled in Gallus' gut at the thought. The Blood God would have his bounty, despite the defeat of his followers. Indeed, in some ways, their deaths furthered the goals of that Chaos power. After all, Gallus remembered bitterly, Khorne cares not from where the blood flows, so long as it does.

"It's a mess down there, Gallus," Dempsey spoke up from behind him. Gallus nodded.

"I know, Dempsey," Gallus sighed, his eyes now closed as he gathered his power. He needed to _see._

"They've got no idea how to fight," Dempsey continued, "They're being slaughtered. Let me take my guys down there-"

_'Shut up!'_ Gallus' voice snapped in Dempsey's mind, and Dempsey's eyes widened,and then he smiled as he realized what Gallus was going to do. He didn't do it often, in fact, he'd only done it once in all the time Dempsey had known him. It was exhausting for the Interrogator, and difficult to do, but when he did, the results were _badass._

_"My Will, Manifest,"_ Gallus whispered, and with those words of power his body collapsed. Dempsey caught the fallen Interrogator in his arms, and dragged the man inside the palace, into the luxurious room behind the balcony Gallus had been watching the battle from.

Dempsey sat Gallus in a plush purple chair, smiling all the while. Those Chaos fucks had _no_ idea what was about to hit them.

–Scene Break–

Had there been a psyker watching from the grounds below would have seen a great flash of cold blue light from high in the great spire that was the Governor's palace. This psyker, had they been there, would have also seen a massive avian figure as large as a Leman Russ tank spread its massive golden wings and take flight, speeding away from the palace. This hypothetical psyker would also have noticed the two heads on this avian, and realized that it was the Emperor's Symbol, the Aquila, the double-headed Eagle of the Imperium of Man. And this psyker, unless they were extraordinarily powerful or extraordinarily stupid, would have felt a shiver of fear as the power of the majestic being swept over them, far away though they were, even as they turned to watch the Aquila's flight towards the battle field. This psyker would have then known the peril that the Khornate soldiers now faced.

The Will of the Inquisition had been made manifest, and even now it flew towards the Chaos forces, the destruction of the enemy on its mind.

There was no psyker, however, and so this being, this majestic eagle, remained invisible to defenders and invaders alike, the only hint of his presence was the flickering on the auspexes of both sides, and the carnage that it was soon to wreak.

–Scene Break–

Gallus spread his great golden wings as he flew, extended his dual heads, taking the entirety of the hive in with his vastly enhanced vision. Despite the desperation of the situation, despite the power of the Warp rushing through him, a part of him was never able to ignore the sensation of absolute freedom that this form had always granted him. This ability, the most potent of all of his powers, was the most wonderful to use, as well as the most dangerous. It left his body vulnerable, but he knew Dempsey would protect him. It tired him greatly, though. He knew great psykers like Inquisitor Gideon Ravenor could manage this shift effortlessly, but Gallus knew he had only a fraction of the control and skill that Ravenor had possessed. But what he lacked in skill, he made up for by being vastly stronger than his idol, though this still didn't make up for the disparity in efficiency that he knew plagued him. When he returned to his body, he would be in pain for days, and would likely sleep for a good twenty straight hours besides. But this would be worth it. No psyker lurked among his foes, no sorcerer nor daemon to strike at his immaterial form. Nothing without psychic powers could harm him, and for all the dangers that the Khornates posed, they most certainly lacked psychic powers.

Within moments, the great golden eagle had arrived at the main barricade. The battlefield was choked with the dead and dying, and the Khornate charge had well and truly overwhelmed the defenders. The great barricade was shattered, the tanks and heavy weapons crew having blasted three gaping holes in the structure. The tanks and Chimeras were already searching for other ways to reach further into the city. Gallus chuckled to himself as he saw a group of Chimeras charging what looked like a lightly defended alley. In actuality, it was heavily mined, and would collapse several large buildings on the traitors within the APCs. The Leman Russes, though, were heading towards a far less effective trap. It was a large road surrounded by buildings, and was obviously mined with anti-personnel explosives. It was meant to draw an infantry charge into the crossfire of dozens of heavy stubbers. Unfortunately, it appeared that the tank column was about to render that trap useless.

Gallus turned his gaze away from the tanks. It didn't matter much, given that the road in question went near a particularly large dwelling spire that was mined to collapse on anything that made it past the initial barrage. The Interrogator focused his gaze on the foot soldiers below, and dove down, shrieking his defiance to the Gods of Chaos, and struck the center of the hoard. A wave of undeniable power erupted from his immaterial form and everything within a dozen feet of his impact was thrown aside like so many ragdolls. One more he screamed, and this time his howl was heard. The deafening Warp howl pierced the ears of the Khornate soldiers, and many fell to their knees, clutching their bleeding ears. Gallus lashed out with his beaks and talons, tearing many of the soldiers apart with his psychic weapons, even as he flapped his great wings, unleashing hurricane-force winds from his psychic form. PDF soldiers watching from the earthwork barriers several hundred meters away were stunned. From their perspective, it seemed a small tornado had formed in the center of the enemy hoard, and was even then tearing their foes apart. One man among the PDF gathered his wits quicker than the others.

"The Emperor smiles upon us!" he shouted, "Fire now, while the traitors are distracted! Kill them all!"

And the PDF charged. The second line, far more numerous than the first, charged the great hoard while a golden Aquila savaged the Khornate lines, and, in the distance, explosions echoed as the mined alley destroyed the Chimera advance. Heavy weapons teams, manned by the Inquisitorial troops, left the palace, accompanied by fire teams armed with Hellguns, and sought out the approaching forces of Chaos, sought out the place where a spire would be collapsed on the tank advance, preparing to destroy whatever vehicles might survive. The Khornates spread throughout the city like a virus, it was true, but the antibodies of the Imperium were more than ready to strike back.

–End Chapter–

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